#(it was hard to narrow down but this one fits! so yes this works)

[godzexperiment]

♯ for a song my muse would listen to when sad

musical prompts!

angels dont cry by e.llise

he has an lot of songs divided up for types of sad/emotions and mixtures thereof but he 100% puts this in quite an few

[paceprompting]

a ballad in translation

written for ‘sing’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: 90s era steddie, established relationship, singer eddie, deaf steve, domestic fluff

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t get home until late.

It was his own fault. They actually finished recording early, and rest of the band headed out with their unusual gift of free time. But Eddie, since they’d paid for the time anyway, stayed behind to work out some of the kinks in a song he’d been working on in secret.

Melodies and lyrics were easy enough to do in his head and on paper, but when he pulled out his sweetheart, someone always wanted to listen. Steve, especially, liked to sit close to one of the speakers, and feel the vibrations along with the little bit of sound he could still hear. Liked to watch Eddie’s fingers dance across the strings and the frets.

The studio had been the best place to finally lay down what had only been in his head. Hear it out loud and figure out the parts that needed a better transition, or where he might fit in an echo of the main melody somewhere in the bridge.

By the time he finally finished, an hour past their original reservation, the song wasn’t done yet—but it was getting there.

Eddie flicked the lights twice as he walked into the kitchen, offering an apologetic smile when Steve turned from the sink.

Steve set his hands on his hips, frowning.

Eddie raised his hands to his chest, signing meekly, ‘Hey, Stevie.’

In response, Steve tapped his fingers on his sides.

‘I ordered Chinese. Extra spring rolls. Should be here in,’ Eddie checked his watch. ‘Ten minutes?’

Steve stepped forward, eyes narrowed as he considered Eddie’s bribery.

‘Recording go long?’

Eddie bit at his lower lip. Steve raised his brow.

‘Sort of?’ he answered. Steve cleared his throat, clearly wanting more details. Eddie flexed his fingers, and said, ‘I was working on something. Just me losing track of time.’

Something other than the kitchen lights sparkled in Steve’s eyes. For all that Steve had bemoaned Eddie’s taste in music—both listening and creating—he jumped at every opportunity to be the first to know about anything and everything Corroded Coffin put to track.

‘New song?’ he asked, a true smile forming on his lips.

Eddie rolled his eyes, knowing he was caught. ‘Yes, you dork.’

He’d somehow managed to keep it a secret from the man he lived with for about three months. Cat had to come out of the bag sometime.

‘Can I listen?’ Steve had crossed the room into Eddie’s space, his hands signing frantically.

Eddie danced away, playfully narrowing his eyes as he signed back, ‘Not finished yet.’

Steve reached out for him, curving an arm around Eddie’s waist and pulling him back against his chest. He swept Eddie’s hair out of the way and tucked his nose against Eddie’s throat, dragging up until his lips grazed the shell of his ear.

“Please, Eds?” Steve whispered.

Over the years, they fallen more and more into signing. At first, just so they could both learn ASL as quickly as possible by making it their primary form of conversation. The only times Steve did speak out loud was when Eddie walked off while in the middle of signing, forgetting that Steve had to see to understand him, and then Steve had to call out for Eddie to come back and repeat himself.

And, of course, when he really wanted to get his way.

Steve learned quickly, way back when, that Eddie’s weakness was the low timbre of Steve’s voice and his wide palms over the span of Eddie’s ribs. Even if Eddie wasn’t already up for most anything Steve could come up with, it wasn’t hard to convince him when Steve was involved.

Steve had…not taken it well when the doctors told him he was starting to lose his hearing. Between all the concussions and the still-unknown extent of the symptoms from dealing so closely with the Upside Down, the doctors had acted like Steve was getting off easy compared to the recovery from the demobat scars.

But when they’d finally started to think maybe the bullshit was over and done with—all those years from ‘83 into ‘87 had come back once again with a vengeance.

Most days were better now.

Steve still hated wearing the hearing aids. He also hated not wearing them, especially when everybody was over and he struggled to be part of the conversation, as much as Eddie could keep up with his signing. But not everyone had the everyday practice, as much as they all tried with ASL.

Although, they both enjoyed this particular activity that had come from Steve losing his hearing.

It wasn’t all gone. If Steve sat close enough to speakers with his hands and head pressed against them, he could heart the drums and the bass, and sometimes the vibrations of the vocals.

Steve could hear Eddie sing, if he laid his head against Eddie’s chest.

Eddie turned his head toward Steve, nodding.

They moved together into the living room, Steve only releasing his hold so that Eddie could sit first on the couch. He joined beside him, ducking under Eddie’s arm as he laid it across the back of the cushions and settled with one hand on Eddie’s thigh and his head laid near his collarbone.

He traced an ‘ok’ into Eddie’s leg when he was ready.

Eddie took a slow breath and began to sing.

It was more of a ballad than anything else he’d ever written. Not too slow, but focused on the guitar going along with the vocal melody, rather than a chaos of drums and quick series of chords.

He didn’t have all the words yet. Some completed lines about getting through by following these deep brown eyes through hell and back. What he didn’t have figured out, he hummed the melody for.

The entire song was in his deepest register and a low key.

So, even without his hearing aids, Steve would be able to hear or feel every word, every note.

After all, it was for him.

[ghost-proofbaby]

foolishness and all

summary: your boyfriend puts your love to the test when his heart is set on a certain unsightly purchase.

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

warnings: jar jar binks. not edited, i was laughing too hard.

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: this is the product of a very insane conversation that occurred in the middle of the night last night with @emmaisgonnacry, @lokis-army-77, and @emma-munson. forever sad we can't get the jar jar watch </3 (but at least emma got the darth maul one!) ((thank you for making me laugh until i cried last night, friends.))

“If you buy that thing, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.” 

“I’m getting the watch.” 

“And I’m getting a new boyfriend.”

You glare at your boyfriend for several beats of tense silence, narrowing your eyes as if it’ll do anything to change his mind. His heart is already set – there’s no stopping what’s about to happen. 

“Edward Munson,” you stress, hand shooting out to hold his wrist, but he’s already whipping it out of your reach, “That thing is hideous. We’re shopping for a nice watch for Steve’s wedding, not that.” 

“This thing has a name, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles toothily, tilting his head tauntingly at you, “And I think it fits the theme perfectly.” 

“In what fucking world?”

You're whispering harshly now, trying to keep from causing a commotion in the middle of the store and garnering any more unwanted attention. The workers had given you strange enough looks when Eddie had first laid eyes on his prize, his little yelp of excitement seemingly startling them. 

The less people who witnessed the atrocity on Eddie’s wrist currently, the better. 

Eddie goes against that wish entirely, holding his wrist high in the air for the entire mall to see at this point, “In my world. He did say it was meant to be open for interpretation-”

“Not like this.”

“And my interpretation is buying this absolutely priceless Jar-Jar Binks watch.” 

The thing looks down at you, almost as if it’s laughing at you just as Eddie was right now. 

Part of you wonders if it’s all a bit – something Eddie noticed set you off, and he’s now making it into an entire catastrophic situation solely for his own enjoyment at your irritation. But part of you also knows that even if it is a bit, Eddie Munson will commit wholeheartedly to it. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke or not. He’ll be leaving this store as the owner of that watch, and the thought mortifies you. 

“Please,” you finally resort to begging, feeling a bit childish as you give a pitiful hop to reach his wrist. It’s useless. He only stretches higher, shirt riding up to expose that strip of pale skin beneath the fabric. Your eyes catch on it momentarily, but you force yourself to not get distracted, “Eddie, baby-”

“Nuh uh,” he’s quick to shake his head, taking a full step back from you, “Nope. That baby shit isn’t working on me this time. I’m buying it. End of discussion.” 

Fine. The sweet talk route didn’t work. That’s fine. 

You had more than one weapon in the arsenal. 

Before he can even think to step any further away, you reach out and hook your finger through one of his belt loops, giving a tug that further exposes the band of his boxers all while forcing him closer to you. 

You’re back on your tip-toes, no longer reaching for the watch, but to let your lips barely graze over his as your whispers, “What if I ask you not to very, very nicely?” 

That has him faltering. Complete hesitation as he takes a deep breath and visible gulp, arm beginning to drop ever so slightly. 

“I would… I’d…” he trails off, clearly losing focus as your lips stay hovering just out of touch, “I’d probably… I-”

“Probably not buy it – right, handsome?” 

And just as quickly as he’d fallen victim to the game you’d started playing, he’s pulled from it. 

He leans back as far as he can with your finger still clinging to his pants, scrunching up his nose, “I see what you’re doing. Not fucking fair. It’s only thirteen dollars, anyway. I bet if Steve was here right now, he’d tell me to get it.” 

“He wouldn’t!” you whisper-yell, giving up and pulling back as well, “It’s his wedding, Eddie. He told us to get something nice to fit in with the black tie dress code,” you can see him ready the argument of interpretation once more, and nip it in the bud, “No amount of interpretation can ever qualify the head of Jar-Jar Binks turned into a watch as something that fits into black tie attire.”

He’s not convinced. Not of the point you’re trying to make – no, you know he agrees with you and is just being a little shit at this point – but of not buying the watch. 

“What if I just bought it?” he barters, “Maybe I don’t wear it to the weddin-”

“There’s no maybes about it. You can’t wear it to the wedding. You’re one of the groomsmen.”

He lifts his other hand just as the one adorning the eyesore finally drops to be eye level once more, “Fine! Fine. I won’t wear it to the wedding, but I’m still getting it.” 

It’s a compromise. Or as close to a compromise as you and Eddie were going to get to right now. 

With his wrist finally lowered, you can finally get a proper look at the thing. It’s Jar-Jar’s head with a band to mimic his skin, no clock in sight until it’s flipped open. The inside might be even worse though. Vivid font curling to spell out Jar-Jar, a light orange background with darker swirls, and the world’s smallest sliver of a screen to display the digital time. 

It absolutely blows your mind that anyone thought it was a good marketing idea. But then again, people like your boyfriend exist. He was the intended audience, not you. 

“It’s not even that cool,” you weakly still try to fight the losing battle, gingerly grabbing for the wrist this time with your free hand. Your finger hasn’t left Eddie’s belt loop, now resting comfortably in it, just growing fond of the closeness rather than weaponizing it against him. 

And maybe as a way of keeping him from running up to the counter to complete the purchase. Maybe. 

“It’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he proudly proclaims, right there in the middle of the Radio Shack, never having looked more satisfied with himself, “It can just be a conversational piece. I promise, I won’t break out the secretly evil little shit-”

“What?”

“Unless the occasion actually calls for it.” 

“I’m sorry, can we go back to where you just called Jar-Jar secretly evil?” you ask, more perplexed than concerned at this point.

He was getting it. You were hating it. You had bigger wars to win with the man before you at a later date, surely. 

His grin makes you regret asking, “Oh, you haven’t heard the theory about Jar-Jar being a Sith lord, have you?” 

Your finger slips from his jeans, and your eyes nearly roll out of your head. 

“Go buy that thing. I’m waiting in the car.” 

“Wait, babe, no!” 

“Nope. I’m not listening to this.” 

You turn from Eddie to walk away, making sure he can’t see the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you’re so desperately fighting, but it’s no use when he grabs onto your elbow to spin you back around. 

“Eddie, I’m not-”

You’re interrupted with his lips on yours, an unexpectedly genuine kiss ensuing. The kind that reminds you why you’d ever deal with someone who wants a Jar-Jar Binks watch, the kind that reminds you why the occasional embarrassment Eddie purposefully puts you through in public is all worth it. 

All the butterflies, all the sweetness, all the tenderness. The way his thumb traces over your skin as his hand stays wrapped around your elbow, the way his other hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You can still taste whatever sour candy he’d bought moments before walking into the store all over his tongue and lips, hiding his last cigarette from hours ago. 

It’s a good enough kiss to forget the entire interaction that had just occurred. 

When he pulls away, you’re a little breathless, all fluttering eyes glazed over as you look up at him, “What was that for?” 

His smile could melt your entire existence. Turn you right into a puddle of all the love you struggle to contain, just for him. 

“Just because,” he shrugs, but then he continues on, “And for putting up with me. Thank you for that.” 

“I don’t put up with you,” you say immediately, and mean it.

Even when he’s being insufferable. Even when he’s still wearing the goddamn Jar-Jar Binks watch. You don’t put up with him – you love him. Foolishness and all. 

Your finger returns to his belt loop, and this time, you tug him in for another kiss. Something short and sweet, something just because. 

“You know,” he mumbles against your lips, arm wrapping around you so you can’t leave him just yet, “They have a Darth Maul one, too…” 

Your hand comes up between the two of you, only a slight struggle, just for you to smack him in the center of his chest, “You can only have one, Munson.”

“We could match!”

“I am not wearing that thing.” 

He throws his head back and cackles, a certain glee only born of being with the one you feel safest with flooding his features. All those wrinkles in the corners of his crinkled eyes, the stretch of his lips that bring on the appearance of dimples you could bury yourself in if given the chance. A boy made up of stardust and felicity. Your boy made up of every good thing that could have ever existed in this lifetime. 

You’d rather bicker over the useless things with him a hundred times over than ever live a life without him. 

“It’s fine,” he finally sighs dramatically, “I’ll just wear the Jar-Jar Binks watch to our wedding one day.”

Our wedding one day. 

Your heart just about explodes, and the only thing you can do to not choke up is smack him even harder. 

Our wedding. 

It has a nice ring to it. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” you tell him instead.

There’ll be plenty of other moments to talk about that. Now, when he still wears the ugliest watch you’ve ever laid eyes on, is not the time. 

“Gotta catch me first,” he teases as he slowly backs away, a twinkle in his eyes that makes you question if he knows how you’d secretly felt about that joke. That makes you question if he and Steve Harrington had really only been shopping for Steve’s rings for the last year. 

He doesn’t even run to the counter, knowing that you won’t be chasing him. You’re content to stay back and wait. You’ll always wait on him, really.

Even if it meant waiting for the day he wore that goddamn watch on your wedding day, because at the end of it all, you’d probably let him. You’d even wear the Darth Maul watch to match if he insisted. 

You’d let him wear whatever he wants, and you’d wear whatever he insists upon, because at the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter – it’d be enough to simply marry the dork that just tripped on his way up on the counter while giggling over a watch on his wrist, and know that he’s yours, forever.

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[primofate]

You, Wriothesley's therapist.

TW: mentions of murder, depression, trauma

Sigewinne takes care of the physical injuries in the Fortress...but that place must have a lot of mental instabilities, trauma, depressive states as well, right?

Enter you who is hired by the Iudex to take frequent visits to the fortress and check on a list of people's well-beings.

The Iudex hired you, not the duke, though it WAS the duke's idea, he didn't think he was fit to choose and hire a "therapist", Neuvillette was probably more adept at that.

On the first day of your job, the list or people to check on is rather extensive and you talk and meet with a lot of new people just on the first day.

That guy who killed his best friend and is haunted by dreams of the scene.

That young lady who has spiralled into depression because she's separated from and unable to see her daughter.

That old man who has anger issues because he just didn't think he had done anything wrong.

It was probably a week or two after you were appointed that you finally met the person in charge of the place. The Duke, as they call him.

He seemed like a pretty strict guy, but when he thanked you for looking after the people here, you thought he wasn't that bad.

"I'm just doing my job,"

"A really hard one at that," he comments.

The next time you see him is months after, but this time he only passes you a glance, and rather quickly strides off to his office.

The next day, he seeks you out and apologizes for it.

"I was...in a bit of a rush,"

You wonder why he even apologizes. "...It's no big deal,"

"...I hope that you know that you're welcome here. I don't think you quite understand how difficult your job is, trying to shoulder everyone's past and fixing their psyche for their future,"

You look up at him, and tilt your head a little, squinting your eyes and trying to get a good read out of him...then it hits you.

The Duke needs therapy too.

"...I think you're a little stressed, your grace. Is there a quiet place where we can comfortably chat in?"

How were you to know it was going to end up in tea time? Yes the duke had issues, some deep seated ones, but not as much as the common folk that you were trying to work with. And yet you found yourself having tea with him even though it wasn't "work" related anymore.

All the two of you talked about were stories of the past, and shared a laugh or two about some silly or outrageous story he or you shared.

Weeks later there came a time when the angry old man you'd been working on had an outburst. He didn't mean to. None of your patients ever mean to, not when they had such big emotions, such big events to get over, such pent up emotions and such deep, deep regrets.

Old man had thrown a wrench at you, he was surprisingly strong, probably from working in the fortress for a while. You were caught off guard, not to mention you weren't even sitting too far away from him. You managed to shield yourself from it, but your arm bruised hours later.

You didn't think it merited a visit to Sigewinne, besides it was nearly home time for you.

"Done for the day?" You bristled a little at the sudden voice of the Duke, not expecting to see anymore of him today.

"Mmhmm," you simply answered his grin. You also didn't think it was something to hide from him. So your bruised arm was there for him to see in plain sight.

His grin disappearing and his eyes narrowing at the sight alerted you that it was perhaps something that you should've kept from him. "Where'd you get that?" He was 1000% sure you didn't have it when you had tea with him at noontime today.

"This...Well...Corrin was...having a particularly bad day," you moved your arm behind your back with a small smile, wanting to brush it off, but Wriothesley puts his hand out in expectation.

"Let me see it,"

For a moment the two of you just stare each other down. You wondering what the big deal was, him not backing down. When you didn't move an inch he gives in and adds the magic word. "Let me see it, please,"

You lift your arm up towards his head with a sigh and he receives it shockingly gently. He inspects it like it's some kind of puzzle he needs to solve, thorough and detailed. "Did you let Sigewinne see?" before you could even reply he adds "How did this even happen? Why was I not told?"

"It's..." You start. How do you explain? That you were supposed to be your patients' safe space. That nothing is supposed to harm them when in a session with you, that everything was in confidentiality. Working with troubled people, things like this were bound to happen, and it was only the first time.

He catches on to it quite quickly. "...It's your job," he finishes for you.

"...Precisely,"

The big sigh he lets out at the same time as releasing your arm has you wondering, really, why he seemed so stressed all over again. Over you.

Did you really not know the reason? You had an inkling why, you were a therapist after all. You got into people's minds for a living and Wriothesley wasn't exactly being subtle, but... you didn't want to assume.

"...How about I come with you next time?" he offers. You smile a little. "I don't think Corrin would be comfortable enough to talk with you hovering around,"

He grumbles something under his breath, like a defeated, stubborn puppy. "He doesn't have to know... I'll stand outside, or something,"

You laugh a little. "...The Iudex already has terms on my working contract when things like this happen. I'm supposed to drop the patient if "physical disputes" happen a total of three times and after three warnings are given."

Wriothesley huffs, though it sounds more like a scoff. "Leave it to him to think of everything. Doesn't seem fair," he moves so that he stands next to you, and places a hand on your upper back, pushing you the slightest bit to walk with him. You notice he's steering you towards the Fortress' infirmary.

"What doesn't seem fair?" You ask with genuine curiosity, not knowing what he was implying.

He's silent only for a beat more, but he doesn't look at you as he answers, only continues walking forward. "That he gets to protect you and I don't,"

You can't mistake the somersault your heart makes, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling silly.

The Duke needs the occasional therapy.

Or maybe he just needs you.

[ectologia]

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝐼𝒩 𝒜 𝑅𝒰𝒯 ؛ 𝓀𝑒𝒾𝑔𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒶𝓂𝒾

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ forced breeding ﾉ forced pregnancy ﾉ clit spanking ﾉ creampie ﾉ misogyny ﾉ rut ﾉ baby trapping ﾉ feral keigo ﾉ piss ﾉ marking ﾉ profanity

Keigo’s bigger, softer around the edges but still with that slight cut of pristine muscle lining his torso and limbs. His wings thicken, puffy with a fat down blanketing them with gentle red bristles.

Sweaty too. He doesn’t want to wear any clothes. Granted, he says that all the time. But now it’s not just a want, it’s a need. A priority. He doesn’t feel fit to carry out his primitive desires when he’s being held back and restrained by all that stupid cotton and leather. He needs to be free, needs to let his manhood breathe. Otherwise how could he possibly carry out his responsibility as a daddy? That’s right, he couldn’t.

You leave him to his ludicrous antics of digging out nests in your bed. Making a fine art of curling every blanket, quilt and pillow in the house into a cushty barricaded circle atop your mattress, slapping at the cuddly pile of fabric with an almost crazed look, claiming that your “eggs” are going to be so warm and safe there. Or otherwise scenting you, rubbing his damp neck and hair all over your body, starting off with a gentle kiss to your temple, before sliding down your torso to rub his palms against that little pouch of flesh he knows he’s going to put his babies in, eventually.

Keigo doesn’t like the fact that you still insist on walking around the house fully clothed. He doesn’t, so why do you need to? You’re his mate, his wife, his other half. He knows it’s time to procreate, so why don’t you?

He follows you around the house on another one of your cleaning sprees. His nose wrinkles at the acrid scent of chemicals and lemon in the air, scratching at his throat and burning his sensitive nostrils as you continue to wipe the surfaces and spray away the scent of masculine sweat he worked so hard on drowning the house in. Do you really want another male entering his territory?

There’s only the slightest ring of yellow encircling his otherwise blown pupils. He tunes out after the first 10 seconds of your ranting and scolding. Something about how nobody’s going to “steal you away��� if he doesn’t piss on the front door. Yeah, we’ll see about that, he scoffs to nobody but himself, plucking a bent feather from his rugged cape of crimson to flick and mould it back to shape, flicking at the fibrous hairs.

“Keigo, are you even listening to me?” You clap your hands in his face, attempting to garner his attention. “Hello?”

He doesn’t like that one bit, the flailed movements seeming all to similar to an opposing threat, a predator. He blinks away the carnal instinct to rip your arms out of their sockets and puncture your skull with his teeth. “Yes.”

“Well, it doesn’t fucking look like it. Can you repeat any of what I just said?”

“Stop pissing outside.”

“And what else?”

“And on the door.”

Glowing ember’s narrow as you huff, massaging your temples as you begin to pace, stomping about the kitchen with a cloth and spray bottle in hand.

He shudders at the sharp hiss of the pump, spitting at the granite counter and washing away his mark.

“Baby..” He draws closer, wings twitching at the irritating squeak of polished marble. Two large hands, both streaked with thick prominent veins clasp your waist in an attempt to bring your rear closer towards his erect, naked member.

“No, Keigo. Not right now, I’m busy.”

An elbow jabs at his ribs as you continue to scrub away at the surface, leaning over the edge with the pudgy mound of your pussy swaying against his cock and balls with a tantalising momentum.

Before you know it, the bottle is yanked out of your hand and chucked against the wall. The towel clutched between your fingers meets the same fate, ripped in two by a set of talons and left in shreds on the floor.

“Keigo!” You shriek, already pushing against him as he grips you by the neck. “Get off! What’s wrong with you!”

It’s a rhetorical question, and one he has no interest in answering anyway. Too busy with pulling the silk of your pyjama pants down to your toes, along with those stupidly skinny pieces of sheer string you seem to think pass as underwear. He can already see globs of slick bubbling along the apex of your pussy hole. He grins at the sight, running a bent knuckle through the valley of your puffy folds. At least your body knows what it was made for.

“Keigo, stop!” There’s a hint of panic in your voice, squirming as he squeezes the delicate tendons holding your spine in place. Holding you by the scruff as though you were a bad puppy.

He sighs, flecks of spit flying from his mouth in his crazed revolution. His wings extend behind him as he clutches his throbbing shaft in his palm, swirling and bathing the velvety tip in your cunny juice. “I’m sorry, chickadee. But this is just how it is in the real word.” There’s a solemn silence, a heavy seriousness to the air as though he wasn’t rubbing his pulsating slit against your clit, collecting its oozing wetness for an easier turn of events. “You gotta’ take what you want. Gotta’ just fuck it out. Otherwise, we’d go extinct.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Wouldn’t we, honey bun?”

“Ngh — !” The edge of the counter jabs at your hip bones, rolling on delicate skin that’s sure to be bruised after the ordeal. Your waist bucks as he smacks his swollen tip against your nervous bud.

“Mmh, this is what you wanted.” He repeats the motion, flicking his wrist faster and faster until his spanking becomes rhythmic, slapping the sluggish weight of his member up and down on your pussy. It’s a strategic move on his part, torturing your poor sensitive clitty so you’ll be all that more grateful when he moves on to the main course. “Oh yeah? You like that?” He coos as your back hunches, unsure as to whether you’re trying to curl into the pleasure or away from the pain.

After collecting a sufficient amount of lubrication, he does the same, practically clambering onto the counter with your spine arched in his hands as though he were some type of feral beast or savage hound, hung and ready to fuck and breed his bitch. He squats over your quaking form, shoving you along the smooth surface until his drooling dick nestles itself neatly between the cleft of your asscheeks, bobbing against your scared twat with his tensed ball-sack swinging closely behind.

It’s a wildly contorted position, but one Keigo insists on nonetheless.

“Agh, I’ve been waiting for this.” He grunts. “I’ve been waiting so fuckin’ long, and you just wouldn’t let me fuckin’ have it.” Pulling and tugging on your swollen labia, he separate your sticky little slit until all that’s left to shield you is the tense ring of muscle defending your hole. “Well, that’s fine by me chickadee.” He slips inside with a breathy chuckle, giggling and chortling to himself even as you yelp in pain. “I’ll just do it myself.”

It’s fast paced with an ill rhythm. There’s no love or care to be felt in his thrusts, just cruel harsh punishment, a means to an end until Keigo gets to pump his babies into your precious womb, fill you with his chicks so you can finally be a family. A proper family.

“Agh, and we can do Christmas, and Halloween, and go to the beach.” The thought is almost arousing to him, motivating him into humping your rear faster. “Won’t that be fun, little bird?”

He can be sure you’re crying, or at least close to it. He pays your silent tears no mind, blaming it on the excitement of your new life taking will.

“Kei, please! I told you, I’m not ready!” You arch your neck to plead with him.

His smile falters, twisting into something much more sinister and lecherous. He clamps a palm over the back of your skull and turns you back to the wall, facing your pitiful expression away from him. “You don’t need to be ready. I’ll do everything for you.” A calm hiss meets yours ear. “All you need to do, is lay back and take it.”

He digs into your stomach, smashing your insides to pieces as you lay paralysed beneath him. Cold marble presses against your forehead, cooling your fever as Keigo claps into you from above, a heavy set of hung balls knocking against you.

“Keigo!” You chant his name, broken as you wail out a string of pained moans.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanna hear.” Keigo practically howls. “Let’s be animals baby!”

The domes of his knees crash down either side of you, evidence of his newly contorted position as he ruts into your cunt, foaming at the mouth where his teeth grind. “Yes, yes, yes. Fuck yes. Oh, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum. Gonna’ breed this pretty muff full ‘a seed.”

“Keigo, no!”

Funny you seem to think you’re still in charge. After this, you’re never gonna be empty again. He’s gonna stuff you one kid after another and as many as it takes until you become his cute little housewife. The kind that only cooks and cleans and looks after his babies while he’s out working and providing. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together sweet pea.

Keigo belts with laughter as you scream, thrashing and jerking beneath him as he spurts, spraying his seed deep inside your belly and then some. He slips out halfway, looking down to admire the ring of white sewing your gummy crevice together. “Mmh, now that’s what I’m talking about..”

[trustmypoison]

Call Call Call!

Wonwoo x coworker!reader Requested? Yes! Word count: 3k A/N: I know this must be the 4th or 5th time that I’ve insisted on IT employee Wonwoo, but no. I will not stop. It fits him so well.

Wonwoo lets out a big sigh when the phone stops ringing, leaning back in his chair to glare across to Mingyu’s cubicle. He’s answered the phone faster than the rest of them today, and Wonwoo knows Seungcheol and Vernon are also rolling their eyes. It’s a stupid little competition that’s started since you began working here.

You find pretty creative ways to break computers. And phones. And printers. You keep the IT help desk busy and it started as a joke when it was just emails. One of his coworkers would groan, “Ugh, we got another one,” and the response would be, “What is it this time?”

And in the beginning, you kept a very busy schedule. You’d leave your laptop hooked up at your desk for someone to look at while you were at meetings. Same with your desk phone. And the printer was shared amongst your department. All that to say, they had no idea what you looked like until one day it was Vernon’s turn to run and fix something for you. He comes back up an hour later and says, “Uh, did you guys know she was hot?” Vernon’s point was proven one day at the company lunch when you were introduced as the newest team lead for your department.

From then on, all four of them would glance at who was calling or emailing and call dibs. Yes, they’d eventually answer it as the job requires, but if it was you? The race was on. Mingyu happened to win today. He’s jumping out of his seat with a smug smile once he hangs up the phone. “She needs admin access to download something.”

Wonwoo narrows his eyes. “Can’t you just remote in to do that?” It’s what they would do for anyone else. Mingyu shrugs, making his way out of the office. Wonwoo tries not to feed this little competition his department has, but sometimes he can’t help it. Part of it is pride, because even if he’s not busy on another call or away from his desk, he always seems to lose the race to the phone or reply button. Mingyu and Seungcheol enjoy the competition, perhaps more than actually visiting you, though they seem to enjoy that too. Vernon even looks a little dopey sometimes when he comes back down from your cubicle.

Maybe it’s for the best that he loses all the time. He’s sure he’d be painfully awkward. So he’ll stick to your password reset requests which definitely don’t require a visit upstairs.

~ Wonwoo wins one day, not that there was actually a lot of competition. Seungcheol is out, and Mingyu and Vernon are on runs to help someone with something elsewhere in the building. Wonwoo has been left to man the phones and his heart leaps when he sees your caller ID come through. He answers the phone and you sigh on the other end. “I’ve done it again.”

His coworkers give you a hard time about how busy you keep them, so you start every call or email with an apologetic tone. It makes him bite back a chuckle. “What is it?”

“I’m locked out of everything. Which means I can’t even get in to my email to send a password reset request.”

“We need to discuss your password management,” Wonwoo teases, opening the directory. “Here’s your temporary password. You’ll need to reset it once you get in.”

Once you’ve jotted down the temporary password, you sigh again. “Thank you. I’ll try not to pester you again today.”

“It’s no problem.” He’s kind of required to say this, but he says genuinely right now. When the call ends, he documents the ticket and closes it, but when Vernon and Mingyu come back, they both see it and groan.

“You get to go on runs next time,” Mingyu grumbles.

~

Seungcheol gets the next call. You come in late to find out that nothing on your desk is working and you’re borderline panicked when you make the call from your coworker’s desk phone. Seungcheol comes back down ten minutes later with a smirk on his face.

“What, did you finally ask her out?” Vernon chortles from his desk. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. Not that any of them had been so bold as to do that yet, but it seemed like it was only a matter of time.

“Oh no,” Seungcheol chuckled. “I’m not brave enough for that. I was laughing at the problem this time.”

“What was it?” Mingyu asked.

“Surge protector was off,” Seungcheol snorted. “Custodians must have hit it when they vacuumed. You should have seen her face when that’s all it took.”

Even Wonwoo can’t help but snort at the thought. Mingyu shakes his head. “How does she keep doing things like this?”

“It’s a mystery,” Vernon muses.

~

The next call goes to Vernon. The printer is on the fritz again, according to your message. This isn’t new, not even for you. Others regularly complain about the very same printer that’s ancient and really needs to be replaced. His coworkers still chortle about the fact that it’s you who has to report it today.

Twenty minutes later, Vernon comes back into the office and simply announces, “paper jam!”

No one really reacts to this announcement. They get a few calls like that a week. However, Vernon stands between the cubicles and presents a massive wad of printer paper. “I’m not joking.”

The three of them burst into laughter. “Oh man. Did you pull all of that out of the printer in front of her?” Seungcheol wheezes.

“Sure did!” Vernon answers, dropping the wad into the recycling. “Her exact words were ‘why me���.”

“Why her indeed,” Wonwoo muses.

“We need to just put in a request to replace that monstrosity. It’ll save her and everyone else on that floor a few phone calls,” Mingyu said.

“I’ll do it,” Wonwoo offered, pulling up a request form. Anything to put you out of your misery.

~

Mingyu might have taken the next phone call, but he begrudgingly hands it off to Wonwoo to handle. Mingyu’s in the middle of massive laptop order and can’t break away, so he dictates the problem to Wonwoo. It’s simple. You need a new keyboard. He doesn’t ask a lot of questions, simply filing the ticket and picking up a new keyboard from the supply closet on his way out.

He realizes you’re having a hard day right away. You’re cleaning the spilt coffee off your desk with paper towels that your coworker, Jiwoo, is handing you over your cubicle wall. You kind of look like you might cry when he approaches, so he doesn’t dare make a joke about your call today. “New keyboard,” he simply says, holding it up.

“Thanks, Wonwoo,” you sigh. “Sorry to make you make the trip up here for that.”

He shrugs. “It’s no problem.”

“No, it is. This is the first thing I’ve actually destroyed,” you pout, tossing a wad of paper towels into your trash bin and grabbing another wad from Jiwoo.

“These aren’t expensive,” he tries to soothe. “We buy them in bulk anyway. There are a ton in the supply closet.”

He doesn’t know if his words help, so he simply hooks up your new keyboard and carries the coffee-logged one away. Jiwoo is giving you another cup of coffee as he leaves.

He gets the typical questioning look when he arrives back in his office. He presents the destroyed keyboard. “Coffee mishap,” he says, dumping it into the equipment recycling bin. “I think she might have actually been upset by that one.”

“At least it wasn’t her laptop,” Vernon says.

“Don’t jinx it. Bless her heart, but it might happen someday,” Seungcheol said with only a bit of humor to it. Sometimes, they actually felt a little pity for you and your bad luck with technology.

Wonwoo wouldn’t mind putting in a laptop request form for you and setting up a loaner, but he did not enjoy seeing you upset. He hopes you don’t have to call again today, if only because it means you don’t have anymore mishaps to feel bad about.

~

The company is hosting a dinner for everyone in celebration of a successful year. It’s dull for the first half, with leadership rambling about record-breaking profits and an overwhelming number of new investors. Amongst other coworkers, you’re being honored for some of this work, for which you have to give a little acceptance speech. At least you have a good sense of humor, because you thank the help desk for all of the assistance they’ve given you in your time here. It’s sort of like an inside joke when you promise you’ll try not to break anything else.

Wonwoo decides to tap out a little after 10pm. It’s early for something like this, particularly since the company has an open bar tonight, but he doesn’t really feel up to getting drunk with his coworkers. His bed is calling his name, so he says good night and steps out of the venue the company has rented for the night. You’re already standing outside. It’s kind of unusual to see you alone. You usually stick to your department mates, namely Jiwoo.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he approaches you. “Nice speech, but you didn’t have to do that,” he chuckles.

You glance up at him, grinning. “Oh, but I did. I harass you guys constantly. You deserved the shout out.”

“You’re our favorite troublemaker, it’s okay,” he teases. He glances around. “No Jiwoo tonight?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “No, she’s been sick the last couple of days. She wanted to make it, but she’s still stuck in bed.”

“That’s too bad,” Wonwoo says. “What will you do without your shadow? Or are you hers?”

You snort out a laugh. “Depends on the moment, I guess. But to answer your question, I’ll be getting a taxi. She usually drives for these things.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “Why would you do that? I’ll just give you a ride.”

Your eyes get wide. “Oh, I couldn’t ask that of you. I’m all the way on the other side of town. You don’t need to go out of your way.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t mind the drive. Come on. I really don’t mind.”

You eventually nod. “If you insist. Thanks, Wonwoo.” He leads you to his car that’s parked around the block. He lets you guide him as he pulls out onto the street.

While driving between directions, he can’t help but chat idly. It even surprises him, but whatever nervousness he felt fades fast because you’re an easy person to talk to, even if the only safe topics he has are work related right now. “Do you like the job so far?”

“Oh yeah! It’s very different from my last job, but that’s a good thing.”

“Oh? What did you do before?” Wonwoo asked curiously.

You hesitate and he glances to you to see that you look a little sheepish. “You’re going to laugh.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I promise I won’t.”

“You will,” you insist, before taking a deep breath. “Here it goes. I used to work in IT.”

Wonwoo can’t help the snort that he lets out. It’s a good thing he’s at a stop light. “Are you serious?”

You’re turning a little red, rolling your eyes. “I know, laugh it up.”

“Seriously, explain this to me. You used to work in IT but you’re the top ticket requester for the entire year. How did we get here?”

You’re shaking your head, though you don’t look too upset. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but that’s pretty ironic,” Wonwoo muses. “What? Do you just like for us to come visit you?”

“Your whole department? Maybe not,” you laugh, but it makes him quirk an eyebrow at you again.

“What? Do you have a favorite or something?”

You scoff good-naturedly. “What? So you can laugh at me again?”

“Is your plot to date Mingyu?” Wonwoo teases slyly, but you shake your head with an eye roll. “Seungcheol?” Another shake of your head. “Vernon?” He cries out.

You scoff. “Nope. You know, you hardly ever answer the phone?” Wonwoo’s perplexed for a moment, glancing at you at another stop light. “I’m… lost.”

“By what? That I know how to work a surge protector and was hoping you’d pick up the phone? Most of those calls were admittedly things I couldn’t help, but….” You trail off.

Wonwoo’s incredibly slow on the pickup. “You’re… into me? Me?” He points to his chest for clarification.

You blink up at him, gesturing to the intersection. “Green light.” Wonwoo starts driving again. “Why not you?”

“I don’t know… and why not just ask?”

You start to say something and then huff. “I don’t know. What if I make a fool out of myself?” You pause. “More than I already do, I guess.” You point to an apartment complex on the right. “This is me.”

He’s quiet for a few beats as he pulls up in front of the building. You’re peeling off your seatbelt when he interrupts. “I would have said yes.”

You stare at him for a long second before a smile begins to creep up on your lips. “Oh?” You glance around at the street in front of you before glancing back. It’s like you’re steeling yourself for something. “Would you happen to be free this weekend?”

Wonwoo slowly smiles, gripping the steering wheel. “Yeah, I’m free if you are.” It’s his turn to be a little bold. “But I’m free right now too.”

Your grin is getting wider. “The dinner didn’t quite cut it for me. Did it for you?”

“No… There’s a good restaurant around the corner that stays open late, I think.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go then!” You’re hopping out of the car and Wonwoo has never moved so fast to follow. He does everything he can to mask how giddy he is when he meets you on the sidewalk and you hold out your hand for him.

He’ll give you a hard time about your unorthodox approach to letting him know you’re into him later. Much, much later.

~

The phone rings and no one leaps for it. Mingyu even sits back in his chair again. “Wonwoo, it’s for you.”

The little competition of theirs was over the moment that the phone rang one day and you asked if Wonwoo was busy and could help you with something. He hadn’t really announced the newly found relationship, but he’d been met with three questioning glares when Seungcheol had asked why you wanted Wonwoo specifically. He’d casually said, “Not sure, but I’ll be a good boyfriend and go see what she needs.” He left the room in utter chaos that morning.

Since then, they’d resigned themselves to the fact that most of your calls were just excuses to see Wonwoo. It didn’t always work - sometimes Wonwoo was busy and someone else had to come help you - but no one would ever catch Wonwoo complaining.

Like now, Wonwoo simply stands and leaves the office to see you. He knows you don’t really need anything, but he likes the excuse just as much as you do. When he comes out of the elevator, you’re peeking over your cubicle wall and he can tell you’re grinning even though he can only see your eyes. He hangs over the cubicle wall lazily. “You rang?”

You look a little sneaky when you smile up at him. “I accidentally deleted a file and I think it’s gone forever. Can you help?”

“Sure,” he says simply, though he could have recovered this file from his desk. You slide your chair to the side and he squeezes into your cubicle to take over your computer. “Any plans tonight?” He says casually.

“No, do you?” You ask, tone teasing.

“Oh my god. Do you guys have to do this every day?” Jiwoo groans from her cubicle, though neither you or Wonwoo can see her. It makes you both laugh.

“Just put your headphones in, Jiwoo. Let me talk to my boyfriend,” you chuckle.

“Boyfriend, huh?” Wonwoo teases, ignoring Jiwoo’s second groan.

“When did we talk about that?” He’s absolutely messing with you because he’s been calling himself that for a while now.

You blink up at him innocently. “Do you hate it?”

Wonwoo snorts. “No, you know I don’t.” His phone buzzes, and then keeps buzzing in his pocket. He knows it’s one of his coworkers downstairs. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you later for dinner.” He risks a little kiss before he runs back downstairs. He’ll take whatever complaints his coworkers have for his little escapes upstairs any day.

[satorusugurugurl]

Heyyy👋 can you write reader catching modern au! Sukuna masturbating🫣 and she helps him out

Come Home

Summary: With his brothers at school and a day off work, Sukuna is alone in bed when his thoughts trail off to you. There's only one reasonable thing to do.

Pairning: Modern AU! Sukuna x FAB! Reader

Word Count:1,657

Warning: Masturbatons, oral sex, horny sexy sex.

A/N: Yes! Y’all know how I love self-pleasure!! Woot Woot!

“Lunch?”

“Check!”

“Phone?”

“Check!”

“Gym clothes?”

“Double check!”

“Awesome, cool,” Sukuna shoved his younger brother towards the door. “Go on, get the fuck out.”

Choso and Yuuji glanced at each other before looking at their older brother. He was in a poor piss mood. He had been all week. The two brothers shared a glance before Sukuna narrowed his eyes at them. It was probably because you were on a week-long girls’ trip. And while he would never admit it, his brothers knew how much you meant to him.

“What?” He asked, running a hand over his face.

“Nothing! Have a great day!”

As soon as they were no longer visible, Sukuna slammed the door shut. He'd been so annoyed every little thing ticked him off. Work, his brothers, everything! He'd been blowing his top, more on edge than usual.

If you had been here, you would have been able to ease his stress. You could talk him down from any edge. From the way your hands massaging his shoulders, working the tension out. By the way, you took over whenever the boys would give him a hard time. He hated to admit it, but you made him a better person. And what was even worse was that he liked it. Damn, fuck, he like the person he was becoming because of you.

You, all of you. Sukuna groaned, shutting his eyes tight as you invaded his mind. You soft Y/H/C, how your eyes lit up, how your smile could melt him. Everything about you was perfect in his eyes. Your voice, the way you smelled, the sound of your voice.

“Sukuna!” The joy in your voice when you came over.

The firm but gentle “Sukuna.” You whisper in his ear when he starts to lose his temper with his brothers.

“S-Sukuna~!” The way you would moan his name when he was balls deep inside your perfect pussy.

With a frustrated sigh, he peered down at the tent in his sweats. How was it you could be hundreds of miles away and still make his cock hard? Damnit, he had it bad for you, and he had a raging boner.

“Fuck it. I have nothing better to do.”

Padded across the floor, Sukuna plopped down in bed, his hand slowly reaching into his sweats. Sukuna grabbed his cock, causing a sharp hiss to pass through his clenched teeth. The velvety skin was hot, throbbing under both his touch and the thoughts of you. It always amazed him just how fucking hard he got whenever you were involved. Either participating in the fun or when you were just at the forefront of his mind.

Which was constant anymore, yet you were nowhere to be found to help with the predicament he currently found himself in. You were probably sippin’ on mimosas or some girl shit. When Sukuna would much rather have you sucking on his cock.

”Fuck.” Spitting into his hand, Sukuna wrapped his fingers around his cock. Imagining it as your hand, which barely fits around his girth length. “Suck it.” He rolled his head back, resting it against the pillows as he imagined images of you. Crawling up the bed on your hands and knees. “That’s right, mhmm fuck you look so fucking sexy.” You were naked, tits bare, lacey underwear hugging your hips as you kissed up his thighs.

He squeezed his shaft before slowly dragging his hand up and down. His spit lubricated the soft skin of his cock, but it wasn’t nearly enough, not enough to even begin to mimic your mouth. You were always so messy, gagging up and down, taking him as deep as you could until pretty tears stained your cheeks. Even if he told you not to push yourself, that you neednt worry about him, you gave it one hundred and fuckin’ fifty percent. So, one could only imagine his disappointment that his hand felt nothing like your tight, wet mouth.

The way your pretty lips kiss swollen wrapped around the tip, your tongue teasing his slit in slow, calculated licks. He knew you liked it. You loved sucking his cock. You hummed around him as you tasted his pre-cum, making your tongue move harder against his tip. Eventually, though, you grew tired of the pre-cum and wanted the real thing. So you would gag, bob your head, hollow your cheeks, doing everything and anything in your power to get him to cum in your mouth.

You were such a whore for his cock.

”That’s it, suck it, suck it, my fucking beautiful girl.” In his fantasy, you hummed, sucking faster as his hand tried and failed to imitate you. “Come on, baby, you can take it.” His brain was screaming at his hand to do what he was seeing in his head, but it was to no avail. Despite his hand being a cheap knockoff, it would get the job done. Just not in the way he wanted.

“Fuck, Y/N, come home soon.”

As Sukuna continued thrusting his cock into his fist, you opened the door to his apartment. You were giddy, kicking your shoes off, searching for your handsome boyfriend. You had told him you were coming back on Thursday, which was a lie. A lie you were proud of! You knew he had the rest of the week off, so you took it upon yourself to take the week off yourself. This way, you could make up for your time away from him.

When you couldn't find Sukuna anywhere in the kitchen or living room, you grinned mischievously. Knowing him, he fell asleep after sending his little brothers off to school. That meant you could wake him up in the naughtiest way before getting your guts rearranged. Tip-toeing to his room, you tilted your head to the side as his groans and curses could be heard from his room.

When you peeked inside to see what he was doing, your breath caught in your throat. Sukuna was flushed. A light sweat had begun to bead over his toned muscles while he fucked his hand. His face was contorted with frustration as his hand moved up and down faster. Your poor baby was so close, but he couldn't get past the edge. His thick, girthy, perfect cock throbbed red with anger while it cried beads of pre-cum.

“Y/N, fuck Y/N, don't stop, so close.” Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you fought back a pleased giggle. Poor Sukuna, he must be missing you so badly. Jerking his cock off like a horny teenager. Desperate for release, for a mediocre orgasm.

Well, it was his lucky day. Because you, you were going to suck his would out. Using his shut eyes and heavy breathing to your advantage, you stepped inside his room. You made sure to hold your breath as you approached the edge of the bed. From up close, you could see the pained expression on his face. Poor thing, his cock must be so hard it hurts. What kind of girlfriend would you be if you just allowed him to suffer like this?

Bending over, you kitten licked the slit of his leaking cock. Sukuna’s cock throbbed hard before his body seized up as he pulled his hand away. “What the fu — oooh fuck.” You wasted no time, getting on the bed, body hunched over as you took the tip of his monstrous cock in your mouth. “Fuck, holy, Y/N?!” His disbelief melted into a gravely moan.

Seeing as your mouth was full, you hummed, looking up into his eyes. “Mhmm~” you attempted to wrap your hand around him, slowly stroking him in time with your sucking.

“Oh, fuck feels so good!” Sukuna wrapped his hand in your hair, tugging at the Y/H/C locks.”That’s it, just like fuckin’ that!” He shoved your head down, making you take his cock down your throat. The sudden action had you gagging as tears blurred your vision. “So pretty, fuck you're so fucking pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

His praises had you sucking him down deeper. More tears streamed down your cheeks as you ran your tongue down the vein on the underside of his cock. Sukuna gasped, thrusting his hips up and into your mouth. Looking at him with blurry eyes, you gagged harder as he fucked your throat like he was fucking your tight pussy.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.” having him hold your head in place as he ducked your face was so arousing in the most intimate ways. You loved making him feel good. You got off on this. “Take it,” he gritted, “take it, suck it, fuckin’ fuck! Y/N!!” he threw his head back, back arching off the bed as ropes of cum filled your mouth. It was thick, hot, and slightly bitter.

You were determined not to waste a drop, so you swallowed and sucked, repeating the process until Sukuna pulled you off his softening dick. His chest heaving, cheeks flushed, the man looked like he ran a marathon. Seeing him in a state like this had you smirking as he gently caressed your head.

“Oh my fuck, I was not expecting this.”

“Mmm, surprise, I came home to spend time with you.”

Sukuna slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. “Good,” he grabbed you by the waist, easily lifting you, positioning you to straddle his neck. “No, why don't you take a seat here.” His middle and forefinger tapped at his lips. “And tell me all about your trip.” you ripped your underwear off, tossing them across the room, before holding your dress up in your hands.

“Well, you’ll never guess what Minami did.”

“Fuckin’ hate that bitch, tell me everything.” He muttered into your pussy as you gasped out in pleasure. Yeah, he felt a million times better now that you were back, right where you belonged.

[blckbrrybasket]

21. “Wind You Up”

Trevor (Hellraiser) x Fem!Reader

꒰Hair Pulling + Rough Sex꒱ - 851

• degradation, reader with long enough hair to grab, jealousy, unprotected sex, friends with benefits

kinktober m.list

Looking for love in this world was overrated and fucking stupid in your opinion. In your eyes Trevor felt the same way, and for the most part he did. Except for when you both agreed it was fine to see other people and you actually went on another date with a guy.

Who the fuck did that guy think he was? He obviously wasn’t good for you, not that Trevor was the best fit either. It wasn’t the healthiest of relationships, and for sure not an official one, but Trevor still felt as if he was better than any guy you could get with. He knew he was, even if he had to prove it to you.

And by no means was it his fault that he was snooping and came across the story you had posted about your date on instagram. Fucking embarrassing for him. Did people think you and him weren’t together? He’d make sure you realized you were his and he was yours.

“Yeah? And did he fuck you like this?” Trevor laughed cruelly, holding onto your waist as he pounded into your cunt. Normally you’d be embarrassed by how loud your cunt was squelching, but you were so far gone it barely registered in your brain. Trevor had already brought you through one orgasm, not faltering for a second as he fucked you brainless. 

That’s what this was, fucking. There was no gentleness or ‘making love’, he was showing you that he was the only one who knew your body this well, the only one who knew how to make you cum repeatedly and in such a short amount of time. Not that time mattered. Trevor had stamina, he could be here all night.

His hips drew forward, snapping them at an angle that had his tip pressing into your g–spot. You moaned, mouth open against the mattress as you drooled. He rolled his eyes, “Just gonna take it? Can’t even do any work? That’s fine. I’ll do the work, make you cum. Shit, I always do.” Trevor was nearly a mess, sweat rolling down his muscles as he tried not to choke on his words.

He wanted to brag, to make it known that he was the only one for you. You nodded into the bed, his narrowed eyes glaring at the back of your head. “That’s what you need? To be fucked like a whore? Sure look like one, going out with other guys when you already have me.” Trevor’s chest heaved as he stared down at you, anger and jealousy still coursing through him.

Not satisfied with your lack of an answer he reached forward, grabbing your hair into a ponytail, wrapping your hair around his palm as much as he could. Trevor yanked, pulling you up by it. Your back arched easily, front half lifted off the mattress as he held your head up by your hair. “Fuck! Yes, Trev!” You really only half registered what you were agreeing to.

Shaking his head, he kept thrusting up into you, bouncing you on his dick as he gripped your hair. “Fuckin’ know that’s right,” he grumbled. Your hands fumbled, coming back to grab at his muscular thighs, moans growing in volume. Hearing you moan so loudly had Trevor’s eyebrows furrowing, begging to not come earlier than he wished.

It wasn’t hard to admit that your sounds turned him on more, even more so when you greedily took everything he gave you. However, it was harder to admit that there were feelings under all of it. He pushed the thoughts down, exhaling in stuttered breaths as he tried to stave off his orgasm.

Even so, he could feel his balls tighten, slapping against your ass. “Fuuuck,” Trevor groaned at the sight of your body jolting with each thrust. “Take it, I know you can,” He sneered, no mercy in his voice. He knew if you had a problem you’d voice it, but judging by how cock drunk you were, you had no problems. 

Trevor moved to press your back to his chest, still holding your hair tightly between his calloused fingers. “I’ll teach you not to find someone else. You don’t need them.” You choked on incoherent words, nails biting into his thighs as he smirked. “What was that?” He egged you on, giving you a punishing thrust. When you only mewled in response he nodded, “That’s what I fucking thought. You speak when spoken to.”

His thrusts doubled down as his fingers sunk into the roots of your hair, gripping onto it. When you only moaned Trevor smirked. “Good girl. So you can listen,” he laughed sarcastically, cocking his head to the side. His free hand left your waist, going to grab your ass, spreading it to see himself fucking into your cunt.

“If only you were as nice as her,” he tutted, shaking his head. “There’s still hope.” Trevor looked back up at the back of your head where you let him hold your hair harshly. His smirk became wider at the sight of you being so obedient. Yeah, there was still hope.

tags: @babybatlover, @starrgurl46, @wowzers-07, @nenukkjhj, @morgan0lw21, @kinokomoonshine, @slut4ddn, @adventures-of-impala, @dreamerjj

[ajwrks]

—Rent!

mtmte various x gn! human reader

please tell me ya’ll have seen a trend (well it’s not really a trend trend..) on tiktok about a couple and one of them is like… “i can’t pay rent this month,” and their significant other also is like… “what rent? you don’t pay rent, i do?” LMAO well this is what i imagine this to be like with some of the lost light crew 😭😭

characters included: whirl, rodimus, rung, riptide, & swerve!

content: sfw, fluff, romantic themes, crack (ofc) | wc: 1.4k

WHIRL

whirl looks at you like you’ve grown five heads. what do you mean you can’t pay rent? his one optic is bright and expressive as they narrow deeply at you. because of his unpredictable nature, you’re growing nervous due to his unresponsiveness as he just… looks at you in utter disbelief.

“what? your brain not working or something? when the hell do you ever pay rent?!” his voice was a mixture of shock and exasperation. at this point, your poker face was falling apart— quickly too. 

“well for this month, i can’t pay the rent whirl,” 

“what the fuck are you talking about? i pay it??!” 

after you told him it was a prank, he threw an accusatory claw in your direction saying that if you pull something like that again, he’ll make you pay rent (not cool) but don’t worry, he obviously didn’t mean it! he swears up and down that it's his duty to provide for you, even if that means paying all of the rent

RODIMUS

walking down the ship's corridor you arrive at his office door, pushing past the automatic slabs that revealed him hunched over a clutter of papers with a digital device gripped in his servos, typing furiously as he swiped with precision as a surgeon. when rodimus made the perfect combo, a ding sounded, and for a split moment, his face plates lit up with a smug expression before glancing up at the call of his name.

“oh hey y/n,” he smirks at you, setting down his little game console he got from god knows where, and he also knew damn well he wasn’t supposed to be off task like this either, but you digress. “what’s up?” he asks. 

“rodimus i don’t know how to tell you this but…” you pause, taking in his expression. rodimus leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady as he tried to read the false tension in your face. 

“what is it?” 

“i can’t pay rent this month,” there was a long stretch of silence as you stared at each other. he lets out a bitter laugh before he could stop it. it was high-pitched and hysterical, completely out of place. 

“i’m sorry, what did you say? you can’t pay rent?” rodimus struggles to probably inhale a proper breath at how hard he’s heaving with laughter. you bite back your own as you morph your face into one of irritation 

“why are you laughing? this isn’t a joke. i seriously can’t,” 

“i’m laughing because you can’t and don’t pay rent” his laughter died off, but a smile still lingering. “seriously, you had me thinking it was more serious than what it was,” his arms folded behind his helm.

“what do you mean i can’t pay rent?” you completely forgot about the joke, you raise your brows at him expecting him to try you. you dared it. 

“welllllll i mean… aren’t you broke?” 

he learned his lesson immediately after! (don’t worry man you’re not broke!) obviously, he chooses too pay it… but you gotta let him know that you’re more than capable to pay those expenses too  

RUNG

rungs' desk was cluttered with scattered pieces with intricate materials, each one waiting to be assembled into his current ark— yes, another one. it was his dear hobby so you like to sit in his presence and chat while he worked his nimble digits. 

“rung?” you call his name in the midst of comfortable silence. rung held up a thin, elongated piece, squinting at it curiously thinking about where it could fit in his construction. 

“yes my love?” he finally answers, giving you his undivided attention. you pretend to ponder on a thought that seemed to greatly bother you.

“rung… i can’t pay the rent this month,” his brows furrow deeply, genuine confusion rewrites itself on his features. he hums silently as his servo gently lands on the back of your hand. 

“well you don’t have to worry about that. you don’t have to, remember? i pay the rent…” his voice is soothing, the simple offering of comfort— a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you falter. rung looked absolutely concerned, afraid your memory suffered a bit during a time he didn’t know about or if you had gotten the wrong idea somehow. 

“it's a joke, don’t worry,” you chuckle, shaking your head. 

honestly, you were kind of expecting him to take it somewhat seriously but not entirely. his reaction was definitely endearing to you though. it was impossible to keep up that act for so long (we stan rung) 

RIPTIDE

when you approach him with the joke in your shared habsuite, i feel like he’d actually be scared for his life and yours. like what?? you can’t pay rent??? it really just proves to you just how forgetful he can be. 

riptide laying on his side as he flickers through the various pre recordings from different entertainment media on the projected screen from cybertron. you lay the opposite side of him, also looking at the flashing images with a grin growing on your lips, glancing over at riptide— a heavy exhale leaving his chassis. 

“borrrrringgggggggg,” he was determined to find anything suitable for the both of you, but was getting increasingly harder each second. 

“hey riptide?” 

“yeah?” he replies without a beat of reluctance, unconsciously tugging you a bit closer to him in the process. 

“i don’t know how you’re going to take this but… i can’t pay rent this month,” your voice lowers, making yourself seem smaller. 

“okay that’s cool— wait what?!” he snaps his helm in your direction almost incredulously. “then how is the rent gonna get paid?” he went bug eyed. your mouth gaped open, you tilt your head hoping that the angle might help you make sense of what the hell just came out of his mouth. 

“are you serious?” you release a breathy laugh at his mounting fear. 

“uhhh yeah?!” you roll your eyes. 

“you better start throwing it back for some cash then,” riptide looked increasingly afraid at your statement, oblivious to your taunting banter. 

“i’m not throwing back anything—! let's give megatron to the djd and see if they pay us…!” 

you weren’t sure if he was serious or not in the moment when he said that... but it took him an embarrassing amount of time to come to the realization that you were joking and that he pays the rent. how could he forget? puffing out his chassis with a “oh yeah you’re right. i do pay the rent” like he totally didn’t just have a breakdown trying to figure out how rent is going to be paid when he's the one who takes care of it

SWERVE

it was late hours, there was no one but swerve carefully, wiping down the last bit of the glass cups that were freshly cleaned by his servos. he slowly looked up to the sound of pattering feet steadily getting louder with each step. swerve grinned goofily like a teenager at the sight of you. leaning over the bartop you smile back. 

“what’s going on y/n? i definitely thought you would’ve been asleep by now— you know, human sleep cycles and stuff… they’re super weird,” you maneuver your body into a stool as you cradle the side of your head in the palm of your hand. 

“i was waiting for you, swerve,” swerve puts more of a pep in his step now that he knows you're waiting for him. 

“this is the last one, so don’t you worry in the slightest,” his smile broadens. your face suddenly changes, which scares him half to death. “y/n? what's the matter? was it something i said?” 

“no it's just… i won’t be able to pay the rent this month,” you give a dramatic pause, your voice dripped with mocked despair. swerve stilled momentarily before smiling again once more. he leaned over the countertop as well to close in the distance. 

“c’mon y/n. you’re for sure gonna have to try harder than that! i saw that trend already!” he barked a laugh, backing away as he set down the last glass in its respected place. well. there was absolutely no way you could have expected that one. you scoffed in disbelief. your mouth parts, but closes quickly. the words never properly formulate as you just sit there as swerve continues to chuckle here and there. 

“damn. i thought i could’ve got you…” 

“don’t stress your head y/n! even if you did get me, you know i’ll always take care of you.” 

swerve did NOT fall for it. damn him and his definitely unhealthy consumption of human media. now, you were determined to find a prank that you were sure he wouldn’t see

— i love riptide so much 💔. but lmk if pt2 is something yall want 🤤

[astroboots]

Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 

“Yes.” 

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive. 

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 

You want him to stay. 

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 

Please stay. 

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet. 

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left. 

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 

The Universe. 

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 

You really wished he had stayed with you. 

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 

"Miguel!” 

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it��s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 

Except it doesn’t. 

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 

Fuck! 

You can’t sleep. 

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories /two/ Azriel X Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part one Part Three

You dream of the blue of his siphons. The hazel of his eyes. You see him every night, whether you’d like to or not. He seems to invade everyone of your senses, always. Even from miles away. Even if he was dead. But you swore you’d know if he perished when Amerantha took over. You felt as if you would’ve felt his loss deep within your gut. 

But there had been no word of Velaris, or the people inside it. Had your brother truly been able to hide it all of these years? He’d been stripped of so much of his power, but did he have enough to keep your beloved city safe? 

“He wants you in the dining room for dinner.”

“And if I say no?” You question the red haired fox. 

His eyes, one golden and mechanical, narrowed on you, “He’ll drag you down by your hair.”

“I’d like to see him try,” You bark out a laugh, knowing you could shred him in a moment if only you had use of your power. 

The faebane they kept you full of made sure you were just a sliver of who you once were. Your skin was dull and lifeless, gone was the wondrous glow of immortality. Because you might as well have been mortal, plain and easy to kill. But you still had the self defense that your brothers taught you. You still had the ability to fight back. You were weak now, yes, but you could still just as easily use one of the butter knives on Tamlin. 

“Please,” Lucien begged, “Don’t be difficult. It’s been a hard day.”

“He lost another, then?” I question, head cocking to the side. 

“Don’t bring it up or he’s likely to skin you alive,” Lucien warned you. 

“Again, I’d like to see him try.”

Lucien’s eyes seem tired as he looks at you. Your fight seemed to dissipate as you looked at him. You knew time was running out, far too fast. Soon enough Amarantha would take control over every Fae, no matter where they lived. Tamlin was the only one keeping her at bay, and his power was almost hers for the taking. Then what would become of you? When her goons came for Tamlin and ransacked the house, surely they’d find you and drag you before her. Then you’d just be a tool to further your brother’s pain. 

“Ah, I can see it now,” He sighed, “You’ve realized your fate, if this doesn’t work.”

“He’ll never convince a human to love him,” You shake your head, “No matter how charming  he can be.”

“For your sake, you best hope he does.”

You follow him from your room, or your cell, whatever seems to fit one day to the next. The manor house is quiet as you make your way through it, servants not sparing you a second glance. They all knew you were being held prisoner, yet they could do little to change it, without incurring the High Lord’s wrath. 

For once in your life, you were helpless, and had been since that day in the clearing.

“It would’ve been so much easier for him,” You mutter, “Had he just let them kill me that day. Instead he had them spare me and now I stay a constant headache.”

“More like a constant thorn in his side,” Lucien smiled slightly.

The thought brought a sly smile to my face. You prepared your stone mask as you grew closer to the dining room. Lucien was the only one you allowed to see a sliver of who you were. You allowed him to see more of yourself than you should, because he saw someone who was a little more delicate, a little more capable of love and sadness. Not the stone exterior of the Night Court that we worked so hard to maintain.

“Play nice with him tonight,” Was Lucien’s last warning before we reached the golden doors. 

You schooled your face into a bored mask, as if all of this was beneath you. For centuries you’d been playing this part. Without so much as a break from it. Only when you were sure you were alone in my rooms did you let the mask fall. Only then did you cry out for my family, for my home. 

“Glad you decided to join us,” Tamlin’s voice carried from the end of the table. 

Your eyes roll, “As if I had a choice.”

A snarl escapes from Tamlin, claws slowly growing. You smile sweetly at him for a moment, before throwing out what little power you had left to reach into his head. Just enough to let him know you were there, just enough to be a pest when you wanted. But it wasn’t without difficulty. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you strained against the confines of your power. 

“Enough,” He yelled, slamming his hands down against the table. 

You flinch back, seeing the beast start to emerge. For a moment you allowed yourself to feel the slight fear that crept in. You were weak now, unable to protect yourself as you used to. He’d taken your power, your freedom, and your strength away from you. Stripped it away as if it were nothing. He should have just killed you in the forest that day. 

“Where is the little human?” You question, sniffing the air, “Her…stench is hard to miss.” 

“She’s getting cleaned up,” Lucien spoke up, “Might be best if you eat before Alis is finished with her.”

I turn slowly to glare at him, before turning back to Tamlin, “Still keeping me as your dirty little secret then?”

“She doesn’t need to know about you.”

“You know, I hope you can charm this one,” You snarl, “Because time is running out. Soon enough we’ll all be-”

“Enough!” He roars, “I know how much time we have left. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Oh, you still have the chance, but the second he finds out I’m still alive,” You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head, “Well… then you’ll really wish you allowed them to kill me.”

“If she finds out you're alive…” Lucien trailed off with a look from Tamlin. 

I flop down into a chair and scoop up a glass of wine, “Well, this is going to be a fun couple of months, then, won’t it?”

“Behave,” Lucien snaps. 

“I am behaving,” I reply sweetly. 

“Eat, before I lock you up and forget about you.”

“Now now,” I sigh, “It’s been centuries, surely we can be a little more civil than that,”

“You’re too much like your brother,” Tamlin sighs, leaning back into his chair. 

“You almost sound sad about that,” You note, “Regretting crossing him?”

“No.” 

You hum and drink your wine before tucking into the food before you. Despite knowing there was faebane in it, you couldn’t stop eating. You hardly ate anymore. Just enough to keep you alive, but today you were starving. 

“Slow down before you make yourself sick,” Lucien said slowly. 

You growl at him before slowly down slightly. If only your brother could see you now. See what you’d become. If only Az and Cas could see you, what would they think? Or Mor or Amren. You weren’t sure what they would say if they could see you now. How different you’d become. 

Time passed slowly. The weeks dragged on, as you were only allowed out of your room when Feyre, the human, wasn’t around. Tamlin was doing well with dancing around your existence. Firenight was quickly approaching, and you felt the excitement deep in your bones. If there was one night that you would beg to be released it was Calanmai. 

“You know you can’t.”

“Please Lucien,” You all but beg, “He’ll be there, I know it.”

“Which is why you can’t leave the manor,” He explains.”

“I just want to see him for myself,” You whine, “I need to see him, just once before the fifty years is up. Just once.”

“He’ll know.”

“Tamlin will be too caught up in the rite to notice,” I remind him, “And you can manage a convincing glamor.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just this once,” You say softly, “I wouldn’t ask if time wasn’t running out.”

“I know.”

“Just, please.”

“You stay next to me the whole time,” He explains, “Running off could get you killed.”

“I know.”

“Thirty minutes, that’s all you’ll get.”

“It’s more than I thought I’d get.”

Your heart hammered in your chest with the prospect of seeing your brother again after centuries of being apart from him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him who you were, you wouldn’t be able to leave with him. Or speak with him. But you’d be able to lay eyes on him, and know that in whatever capacity, he was okay. He was alive, even if he was a slave to the bitch under the mountain. He’s still alive. And that’s all you could ask. Even if the rest of your family was dead, at least he lived on.

[chinolondoner]

Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

---

Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

[twola]

Passerine : Chapter 3

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

One step forward, two steps back.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

Hi - I know it’s been over a year since I’ve updated this. Passerine is a love letter to trauma and the thereafter. It’s heavy. It’s hard to write. But thank you all for holding on to this. I promise it won’t be another year before I post chapters 4, 5, and 6 to finish it out.

Note: I play fast and loose with the passage of time as compared to the canon game.

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Abigail pulls the canvas around the tent’s opening closed behind her. She sighs as she arranges the fabric to preserve the privacy that you so desperately need.

Wiping the back of her palm across her forehead, she squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to stave off a headache.

“Mama!”

She jolts, steadying herself as her five-year-old son barrels into her legs, whipping his arms around her skirts.

“Jack…-Jack,” Abigail reels slightly as she places her hand on his head as he snuggles into her thigh. She pushes gently and he unwinds his small arms from around her. He steps half a step back and she stoops down on one knee to look him in the eye.

She tucks some of his hair behind his ears, her hands cupping his small cheeks, losing the last bit of baby fat from them as the boy grows in fits.

“Can you be a good boy fer me and go find Uncle Hosea? I think he has a new book fer you.” 

His eyes flash in excitement as he nods, and Abigail gives him a wry grin as he tries to wriggle away, not letting go of him until she places a kiss on his forehead. When she takes her hand from his shoulders, he darts away across the camp, calling after Hosea.

Bless him, he’s like a grandfather to Jack. Between him and Arthur, sometimes, sometimes, she can almost forget how terrible of a father John is.

Speaking of which, she finds him staring at her from across the camp, elbows at his knees as he sits in front of the fireplace. She glares back at him before turning away, huffing in a moment of agitation.

She pulls back the tent's canvas slightly, confirming to herself that yes, you are asleep.

Frowning, she lets the canvas go and walks over toward the lakeshore behind where Arthur had set his tent wagon up, crossing her arms over her chest as the red-painted sunset reflected off of the still waters of Flat Iron.

When she had asked you when was the last time you bled, she expected sputtering, anxious eyes and having to come up with a way to tell Arthur that he’d gotten a child upon you.

Instead, your flushed face turned almost white as you shot to your feet and immediately stumbled away from the wash bin and toward the treeline.

Abigail dropped laundry she had been working on back into the tub and hitched her skirt to run after you, catching up only as you doubled over, leaning against a tree as you choked up bile onto the ground.

You had burst into tears in between wet, gasping breaths, your stomach heaving dry when there was nothing left to expel. Abigail rubbed your upper back soothingly as she pulled your hair back from over your shoulder.

“C’mon now, it’s gonna be okay. Arthur’s- he’s the best of the men, he’ll take care of you.” She cooed softly, her hand working in slow circles between your shoulder blades.

You sob aloud, which unseats her. “It’s…it’s….”

You could barely get the words out.

Abigail’s circles slow, “Is… it not his?”

You collapsed to your knees as sobs racked your body, wet coughs echoing through the woods.

Abigail spent the rest of the afternoon trying to console you, able to pry details between your fits of dry heaving and sobs. She narrows her eyes against the red sun in the distance, her shoulders finally letting down from how tightly they’ve been wound all afternoon.

The truth was much worse than she had been expecting.

She had managed to coax you away from the trees and usher you quietly into Arthur’s tent, where she immediately pulled the canvas shut before turning back to you and pushing you down gently into the cot, taking your boots off one at a time and placing them on the ground next to the cot.

In hushed whimpers, you told her about what had happened those months ago when the gang was still at Horseshoe.  Her brow furrowed in shock as she brushed your hair off of your forehead, taking a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and dabbing it across your damp brow.

The truth, as terrible as it was, was not unfamiliar to Abigail. A whore by fifteen, she had seen her share of women forced against their will. A customer gone too far, a rat of a man waiting to catch one of the girls alone, not wanting to pay for services.

She herself had experiences with it. 

But you, as you regaled the terrible details in hiccuping breaths, you had never been part of that world, and when the O’Driscoll forced you down on that bed, the act of sex had never been weaponized against you until that moment.

She had finally calmed you down enough that you drifted off to sleep, not more than an hour ago.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Abigail glances back toward where the horses are hitched, Arthur’s mare still missing amongst them.

She lets out a long, mournful breath. As many times as she had tried to assure you that if you were with child it was likely Arthur’s… all you could dwell on was that man who bound and gagged you and had you on the old bed in that dingy cabin.

You had cried yourself to sleep, and Abigail now has to figure out what to do going forward. Obviously, she thinks as she brushes the loose hair at the nape of her neck that escaped her bun, she needs to figure this out with Arthur. No matter what the decision was. She needed to talk to him before she made a trip to Saint Denis to collect the needed items.

A pang of memory flashes in her mind - the horrified look on John’s face when she told him she was with child. How it was months before he had her in his bed again. Only once, when she was swollen with child, did he lay with her - now years ago. 

The sound of hoofbeats draws her from the fugue of her thoughts. She turns partway around to see Arthur ride into the camp atop his mare, weighed down with a whitetail deer strapped across the horse’s rump. Wiping her hands on her skirt, Abigail sighs and moves towards where Arthur dismounts, following him silently as he shoulders the deer carcass and slings it over Pearson’s table.

He scoots over toward the tub of soapy water to wash the blood from his skin.

“Arthur.” 

Arthur looks up, shaking his hands from the wash bin, “Miss Roberts,” he drawls with a smile on his face.

Abigail does not return his smile.

-

“She was raped?”

Arthur stares at Abigail from under the rim of his hat, clenching his jaw, “How-”

“She told me.” Abigail sighs, leaning against the tree a bit away from the camp that she had led him to.

“She alrigh’? What happened for her to tell you?” Arthur mumbles, glancing back at the camp looking for you, but you are nowhere to be found.

“Arthur. I think she’s with child.” Abigail states in a hushed tone, and Arthur’s eyes dart wildly back to her.

“Child?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Abigail retorts, her patience frayed and finally worn out.

Arthur’s jaw clenches before he opens his mouth again, “It’s mine.” He mumbles, almost too soft to hear, eyes shooting down to the ground.

Much like how you refused to listen to Abigail’s pleading and reassurance as she tried to convince you of the same, Abigail brushes aside Arthur’s comment.

“Did he… did he spend in her?” Abigail rubs her eyes with the back of her palm, exhausted as dusk was closing in on the camp.

“I have,” Arthur says quietly, continuing to look at the ground.

“I know you have, idiot. But th’ first thing she thought is that this baby belongs to some dead O’Driscoll that raped her.”

Arthur’s jaw sets, unable to hide the snarl from his tone. “Ain’t no way it's his. We’ve been sleepin’ together for a couple a’ months. And I don’t always-”

“Yes, Arthur, I get that.” Abigail interjects with exasperation, “The question is - does she?”

The outlaw’s gaze flicks upward, landing on Abigail for a moment, before he turns his head to the side, looking over the western horizon at Flat Iron Lake.

“Look - I don’t know what y’all want to do. I don’t know what she wants to do. But…” She trails off, her gaze also looking out to the lake, “I can give her things to make it end.”

Arthur doesn’t respond.

Abigail dusts off her skirt as she begins to step away, “But Arthur…”

He finally can make eye contact as she looks back at him.

“She’s gotta make up her mind - quick.”

-

The dinginess - the sour smell of off-food and dirty men permeated the air. The kind of stink that simple cleaning would never get rid of.

Your head is killing you as you blink away the pain, but you find yourself biting down on a foul piece of fabric tied around your mouth. You try to pull it down, but find that your wrists are bound behind your back.

The door opens and the feeling of dread in your chest explodes into a blazing fire of fear.

“There’s my little girl.”

His greasy, dark hair is slicked back away from his disheveled beard, and he smiles that toothy, nauseating grin at you.

The O’Driscoll pulls up your chemise from your thighs up and over your belly, baring your bottom half to him. You try to clench your thighs together, but as he leans over you, you do not find that he forces your legs apart.

But you cannot fight him as his rough and dirty hand spreads out over your belly.

“Pretty miss - gonna be all big and swollen with my child.”

Your eyes shoot open, your fingers closing tightly around the blanket that you’ve pulled around yourself. You have to bite your lip to stop from screaming aloud. 

Dusk’s shadows permeate through the canvas of Arthur’s tent, and you realize you’ve spent most of the afternoon sleeping. You push yourself up in the cot, breathing out heavily.

You pass your hand over your stomach. As soon as Abigail asked you the last time you bled, the cavern inside you opened up. You hadn’t bled since before the house in Cumberland. The nausea, the vomiting. God, you’ve been so tired too. 

Shit, was it true? Could there be a child there, under the softness of your belly? Would you grow round and hard there beneath your fingertips? 

Not only was there a pit in your stomach, but you felt like your chest had been cracked open - you’re drowning in yourself - why can’t you escape that O’Driscoll and what he did?

You curl up smaller in Arthur’s cot, pulling the blanket over you, trying to hide from the world.

-

Usually, it’s before a job that he reaches for a cigarette. Something to calm his nerves and hone his senses before roaring into a situation with guns blazing.

That’s not the situation he finds himself in now.

Arthur finds himself pacing in the wooded area outside of camp, smoking hurriedly as his palm clenches in agitation. He throws the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and smashes it under the heel of his boot, turning his face upward and exhaling a plume of smoke with a sound that could be described as a sigh.

The lantern lights of the camp start to glow in the distance. He hasn’t worked up the courage to rejoin the group since stalking out to the woods and smoking half a pack of damn cigarettes.

Flat Iron Lake is still in the distance, a few ships passing between Saint Denis and Blackwater illuminate the dark waters.

Arthur grabs his hat off his head with one head and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of the other. He closes his eyes, letting another long breath out.

Arthur swears he can hear a child’s laughter. It ain’t Jack though. Another young boy - with tawny hair and freckles dusting his cheeks. 

“Papa!”

A young boy who darts toward him as he slides off of his saddle.

The smile of a dark-haired girl leaning in the doorframe.

Fishing rods and toy horses and bedtime stories when he came around. A cup of coffee and pleasant conversation with a girl he shared a night with so long ago…

And two wooden crosses. Silence. Not even the birds sang that day he came upon the little house off the road. 

Arthur continues to pace, cursing under his breath. He goes to reach for yet another cigarette when he stops, swallowing, and grits his teeth.

How goddamn selfish of him to wallow in his own miserable past when you need him. The pit in his stomach reopens as he remembers the sight of you in that cabin. Bound, gagged, and violated.

And now his dumb ass has gone and gotten you pregnant. Foisted this upon you when you were still so vulnerable and hurting and god damnit - he told you he wasn’t a good person. This absolutely proves it.

There’s no lantern light on in his tent, he can see through the woods, and he’s stayed out long enough. Lord only knows Abigail is going to come find him and smack him the way she’s hit John - but he wouldn’t be any less deserving.

With yet another long, burdened breath, he heads back toward his tent.

Arthur Morgan moves as quietly as he can through the canvas, pulling it shut behind him. Darkness has fallen upon the camp, and he’s thankful that he can reach the oil lantern on the table with just enough moonlight for him to light it low. A yellow-orange glow emits from it, illuminating the tent.

You’re sitting in his cot, in the darkness, and in the light, he can see the sheen of tears down your cheeks. Your hair is falling out of the bun it’s half tied into. Fuck, he’s the goddamn scum of the earth.

“Darlin’,” his voice cracks with uncertainty.

You shiver, the threadbare blanket pulled over your shoulders as you sit in the cot. Arthur holds the rim of his hat in his hands, fidgeting with it restlessly as he cannot meet your eyes.

“Abigail seems to think…”

“Abigail’s right.” You mumble, monotone while staring into space.

Arthur chews his lip, “This is my fault.”

“Ain’t your fault an O’Driscoll-”

“I got you pregnant,” Arthur interjects, moving to sit on the small stool across from the cot.

“You don’t know it’s yours.” You snap back with a vicious snarl in your voice and he nearly recoils as if shot. This he did not expect.

Neither it seems, did you. Your eyes widen when you finally meet his, and hold his gaze for but a moment before your brow crinkles and you shove your face into your knees as you draw them up to your chest.

You hiccup a sob, “What if this baby looks l-like ‘im? What if the baby has them cold dark eyes starin’ at me like when when he-”

“Shh,” Arthur hushes you, preventing you from speaking aloud your terrible truth. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you into his embrace, “That ain’t gonna happen.”

You wriggle uncomfortably in his arms, trying to pull away. Arthur lets go of you, but his hands move to cup your cheeks and force you to look at him.

“No matter what, I’m gonna be here for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes are only able to hold his stare for but so long before you look downward. Arthur lets go of your face and you take the opportunity to scoot further away from him in the cot, unable to look him in the eyes.

You’ve pulled your knees to your chest and hidden your face in them, ashamed of the tears that spill down your cheeks again.

“I had a son.”

Arthur’s voice is not loud, not strong, not solid. You slowly raise your head, sniffling, to find him sitting with his elbows on his thighs and head hung low, staring at the dirt below his feet.

“…had?”

He nods, still not looking at you, “He ‘nd his mother were killed, long time ago. Robbery.”

You remain quiet, your gaze down to the ground also. 

“I wasn’t there.”

You wrap your arms tighter around your legs.

“Wasn’t there for any of it. Wasn’t there when he was born, barely there as he grew up, wasn’t there when he ‘nd his mother needed my protection.”

Arthur rubs tiredly over his eyes, his thigh bouncing slightly with something you recognize as agitation, anxiety. 

Fear.

It is several moments before he looks up at you again, swallowing before the low timbres of his voice fill the tent again.

“If you want this baby - I’ll be here. For all of it.”

-

You curl up on Arthur’s cot and try to sleep. At your obvious discomfort, he maintains a distance between you, pulling a chair in from outside and posting himself in it, pulling his hat over his head to try to get some sleep. 

Just before dawn, the pit in your stomach threatens to open up, and you toss the blanket from your body and pad outside, hurrying toward the treeline for what has become your normal. You’re able to make it a few trees back before you have to stop and hunch over to empty your stomach.

You wetly cough between heaving breaths, and it is not but a few minutes later that you feel his fingers grab into your hair, pulling it up as you vomit into the leaves below. 

You lean into the tree harder as you spit up the last of the bile in your belly. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stumble slightly when you try to stand up, and Arthur’s hands find your waist quickly to maintain your upright position.

“C’mon there, sweetheart, let’s lay you down again.”

You don’t answer him, instead allowing him to guide you back to his tent as the first vestiges of the dawn overtake the sky. You let him help you lay down, you let him pull the blanket over your body. Exhausted, you finally fall asleep.

You awaken several hours later, when a hand presses to your forehead, checking for a temperature. Your eyes flutter open to see Abigail leaning over you, and you scramble to get up as she moves to the end of the cot to sit opposite of you.

Abigail takes your hand in your lap after a few terse moments. “Y’ wanna get rid of it? I can make that happen, but we gotta do it sooner than later.”

You look up at her, unable to stop the sheen of tears from glazing over your eyes. Tears escape and trail down your cheeks as your gaze moves from Abigail, sitting on the cot with you, across the small tent to Arthur, sitting on an old chair with his elbows on his knees.

Behind those blue eyes of his is a maelstrom, one you know he’s trying to hide from you. Arthur’s whispered voice echoes in your mind as he tells you the sorry tale of his own fatherhood. His loss, the indescribable hole in his heart full of regret and sorrow. Arthur’s gaze moves from you down to the ground.

You close your eyes as another wave of tears slides down your face, sighing loudly as you try to gather what little composure you have left. 

Finally, you look back to the woman gently rubbing your hand.

-

“Seen you hanging all over Arthur,” Grimshaw eyed your waist critically, “It’s his, ain’t it?”

There comes a time that you can’t hide it anymore - the swell of your belly just under your skirts. You’re sure the girls know - you’ve seen their eyes flit on your figure.

You continue to stare at the setting sun over the lake. Part of you wishes you had the wherewithal to respond, but you don’t have the strength to anymore.

Susan had clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Idiots. The both of you.”

You avoid people. Get your chores done quickly. Don’t complain about not getting jobs. Arthur moved everything of yours into his tent, more permanently letting down the canvas sides.

From that very first day that you cowered in his cot away from his touch, Arthur had given you a wide berth since you pushed him away - hesitant, sleeping on either a chair or laying his bedroll on the ground.

You awaken many days before dawn, silently padding out to the wooded area south of the camp, far enough away that the rest of the folks couldn’t hear your retching. Several times in the beginning, Arthur follows you, and you angrily shoo him away before he stops tagging along behind you.

Over the weeks, your belly hardens, your breasts swell. You have to let out the waist of your skirt, and there is no hiding anything when the height of the summer finds Clemens - it’s so miserably hot that layers to hide your growing body must be shed or you’d sweat to death.

You’ve seen Dutch eye you. You’ve seen him argue with Arthur. You’ve seen Grimshaw join the fray. Hosea has been dropping ginger tea off to you in the morning with a gentle, knowing smile - it tasted terrible, but after the first few bracing sips, it did settle your stomach.

“Mind if I join y’ for a smoke?”

From the grassy spot you sit upon, you look up to find the widow Adler looking down at you. She’s shed her skirts and blouses in favor of work pants. Arthur had dragged her away from Pearson hollering some kind of awful and they returned with her much less agitated. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a braid, the scar above her eyebrow much more noticeable when she wasn’t wearing a hat.

You nod, looking back to the water, and the spurs of Sadie’s boots jingling as she pulls a matchbook from her trouser’s pocket.

“You know me, I ain’t gonna pussy foot about you. I know you ain’t gettin’ fat because of Pearson’s cookin’.” Sadie lights the cigarette between her teeth, continuing to talk through the process.

You remain silent, sitting there on the shoreline, arms looped around your knees, your skirts hiding your frame - your belly, swelling with child.

The match sizzles when she chucks it into the lake and takes a drag.

“Y’got a look about you that you ain't happy bout it.”

You frown, placing your forehead against your knees. “No,” you mumble into the fabric of your skirt.

She lets out a plume of smoke. Silence settles between you before you work up the courage to speak again.

“When they came to your ranch… did they… did-” you swallow, stuttering as your voice cracks.

Sadie drops the cigarette, mashing it into the ground under her boot.

“Yeah.”

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, sighing before your voice cracks again,  “I… when we just got to Horseshoe - there was a house I was scopin’ a-and then… then an O’D-driscoll-” you start to sniffle as your vision clouds with tears.

Sadie does not meet your gaze, simply closing her eyes and breathing out her nose.

“And you're thinkin’ it's his.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your face. What a miserable excuse for an outlaw you are, weeping like a frail woman in front of someone who endured the same trauma.

She lets out a long, thoughtful breath, heavy with the weight of familiarity, “I know, better than most, that you ain't gonna listen to anyone, but y’know it's probably Arthur’s.”

You swallow, about to retort something back at her when she turns on her heel, her spurs jingling.

“You and he weren’t exactly subtle with what you were up to.” Her hand brushes your shoulder before she walks back toward the camp. You remain still, looking out over the lake with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Best if you start lookin’ forward instead of lookin’ back. You’re only gonna find pain there.”

You look back toward her.

“Are you lookin’ forward?”

Sadie Adler turns halfway to look at you, her jaw set and eyes hard.

“No.”

-

You dream of blood. Of the overpowering richness and stifling warmth in the stale air of the tent. Of movement, people, murmuring voices, and hushed tones.

You dream of pain. You dream of being torn apart from the inside. You dream of screams, nearly inhumane, echoing in the tent.

You dream of Susan Grimshaw dabbing a damp rag over your head, a soft, pitying look on her face.

You dream of the women of camp surrounding you - of Abigail and Sadie, Tilly and Mary Beth. Karen, even Molly. Sadness, forlornness in their eyes.

Abigail holds a whimpering newborn in her arms, swaddled in a blanket.

The bundle is placed in your arms, and as you draw back the linen, the child’s features are revealed. Instead of Arthur’s dark honeyed hair and blue eyes, the babe has dark, dark hair and near-black eyes that blink up at you. Dark, cruel eyes that are nothing like your own.

Nothing like Arthur’s.

You rocket up in the cot, gasping, holding a hand to your breast to calm your racing heart. Your movement has awakened the other person in the tent, and Arthur shoots up from his bedroll on the ground, his head darting this way and that, looking for potential danger before realizing that you had been plagued by a nightmare.

“Sweetheart-” Arthur reaches toward your face to wipe the tears from your cheeks but you flinch and draw back further so that he cannot touch you.

“I just… I…” your voice stutters in the night, “P-Please don’t touch me.” 

His hand retracts from between you, “Course, darlin’.”

You gather the thin blanket around you closer, refusing to make eye contact with the man who has crawled closer to the cot from where his bedroll lay spread out on the ground. “Why are you doin’ this?”

“Doin’ what?” Arthur says quietly as he pushes himself up, from his knees to sit at the very end of the cot, opposite where you have curled yourself.

“This.” You gesticulate to the distance between you, then to his bedroll on the floor, “You shouldn’t be sleepin’ on the ground. You’re far too high up in this gang to be doin’ that.”

“You’re pregnant. I c’n sleep anywhere, don’t need a bed.” Arthur says, running his thumb over his bruised knuckles, also not making eye contact with you.

“I ain’t pregnant with-” You begin, clenching your fists in the blanket, your voice faltering.

“You are. Don’t start with this - you remember how many times we was stupid.” Arthur looks up, clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes in a look of irritation before sighing, running his palm down his face against the exhaustion creeping in on him, “Look, sweetheart. I don’t know why you keep thinkin’ the baby’s his. We’ve been sleepin’ together for months.”

You turn your head away from him, setting your jaw. He doesn’t understand, how would he ever understand?

Arthur lets out a breath and moves from the floor up to sit at the opposite end of his old cot.

“But what if he is? What if this baby’s daddy is that O-”

“My daddy wasn't nothin’ but the man that made me.” He interjects, “Hosea and Dutch raised me more than my actual father did.” 

You glance at the mugshot placed on the wagon in the corner of the tent. Lyle Morgan stares at you, with unrepentant eyes, as if he were mocking you from the grave.

“If…if-” You stutter, your eyes watering over again as you draw your knees awkwardly to your chest, your belly getting in the way, The strap of your chemise slips down your shoulder, “If this baby is born and y’ see it’s h-his-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur’s voice raises a bit, and as he realizes it, he slides closer to you on the cot, and grasps one of your hands in his own, his large, calloused hand engulfing yours, “I’m gonna be this child’s pa. Me. I’m gonna be that for the babe, and I’m gonna be that for you.”

You don’t fight his touch. Your eyes water over as you tightly close them, “I don’t know why you’d want another man’s-”

His thumb tenderly swipes your cheek, dashing the tears cascading from your eyes, “Cause I want you, sweetheart. ‘Nd anythin’ you create, it’s gonna be from you, and I want that too.”

You can’t hold back the sob from your throat as you crumble forward in the cot, Arthur winds his arms around you. You breathe in the musk of him - of leather and tobacco and safety.

And in the dim silence of the night, you allow it, burying yourself into his embrace, crying into his collarbone, your swollen belly pressed against his ribcage. 

[aventurineswife]

Dan Heng with a reader who loves to write stories of their own but rarely show them to others in fear of criticism or getting made fun of. But one day, they decided to ask him if he would read their story (since Dan Heng loves to read books) telling him if he can give a feedback about it as they fidgeted with their fingers nervously while Dan Heng read through the contents of the story, awaiting his reply. (You can also add other characters who fits this scenario if you'd like!)

Pages in Light

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Emotional Support, Encouragement, Writing and Creativity, Trust and Vulnerability, Gentle Critique.

Warnings: Mentions of self-doubt and fear of rejection, Introspective moments (emotional vulnerability).

The clatter of the cafeteria quieted around you, the usual hum of intellectual debates and the clinking of cups barely registering in your ears. Sitting across from you, Dr. Ratio loomed larger than life, his hair catching the light, eyes as sharp as ever. His presence was both reassuring and utterly intimidating—a paradox that left your fingers twitching nervously against the notebook in your lap.

You had spent weeks debating this moment. The stories you poured your soul into had remained private for years, hidden away in notebooks and files on your datapad. Sharing them wasn’t something you did—not because they weren’t good, but because the idea of someone laughing at your words, at you, was unbearable. Yet, here you were, about to hand your story to one of the most brilliant minds in the universe.

“Dr. Ratio?” Your voice was quieter than intended.

He glanced up, his eyes piercing as they met yours. A golden ring around his pupils flickered in the light like an unspoken challenge to match his intellect.

“Yes?” His voice was calm but commanding, effortlessly filling the space between you.

You swallowed hard, gripping the notebook tighter. “I… I wanted to ask if you could read something for me. A story I wrote. I—well, I’d appreciate your feedback.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward, an amused expression dancing across his face. “A story? That’s a departure from the academic essays and research papers I’m typically handed. Intriguing.”

He reached out, palm open, and you hesitated before placing the notebook in his hand. His touch was steady, the slight brush of his fingers against yours sending a wave of nervous energy through you. As he flipped the first page, his eyes narrowed in focus.

You watched him, fingers fidgeting against each other under the table. He was silent, entirely absorbed in the words you’d poured your heart into. The silence stretched on, each second feeling heavier than the last.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he closed the notebook and set it on the table. His gaze returned to you, thoughtful and intense.

“This is remarkable,” he said, his voice as steady as ever.

Your heart leapt, but you quickly tamped down your excitement. “You… you really think so?”

Ratio leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Yes, though not for the reasons you may expect.” He gestured toward the notebook. “Your writing carries a certain rawness, an honesty that is difficult to achieve. Your world-building is vivid, your characters compelling, but it is your voice—the unpolished sincerity—that makes it stand out. It is not perfect, but perfection is overrated.”

His words were firm, yet kind, their impact settling into your chest like a weight lifted.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, warmth flooding your cheeks.

He leaned forward, his golden shoulder piece catching the light as he rested his elbows on the table. “You hesitate, don’t you? To share your work. You’re afraid of judgment, criticism.”

You nodded, averting your gaze. “I just… I don’t want people to think it’s silly.”

“Let me tell you something,” he said, his tone softening ever so slightly. “The greatest ideas in the universe were considered ‘silly’ at some point. Genius is not born from fear of ridicule. It is born from the courage to create despite it.”

His words hit harder than you expected.

Ratio pushed the notebook back toward you. “Your story deserves to be shared. Not because it is flawless, but because it is yours. There is nothing more extraordinary than that.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you blinked them away quickly. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled, a rare and genuine expression that softened the sharpness of his features. “Now, if you ever need further feedback—or simply wish to share—I am here. And next time, try to believe in your own brilliance, yes?”

You nodded, clutching the notebook to your chest as a small but growing confidence blossomed within you. You would take his advice, you decided. Your stories were worth sharing.

Ratio’s gaze lingered on you as you stood to leave, his expression unreadable but warm. “Until next time,” he said, and you swore you heard a hint of pride in his voice.

The softly humming engine of the Astral Express served as background music to an otherwise still evening. You sat in your quarters, nervously clutching the manuscript in your hands. Words you had poured your heart into, meticulously crafted, yet kept hidden for far too long. Tonight, you decided, was the night to share them—with someone you trusted.

Dan Heng had always seemed like the perfect confidant. His quiet demeanor and love for literature had endeared him to you in ways you hadn’t expected. If anyone could offer constructive feedback without ridicule, it would be him. And yet, as you approached the archive room where he often spent his evenings, your courage faltered.

You lingered in the doorway, peeking inside. Dan Heng was seated at his usual spot, a book open in his lap. His hair caught the glow of the lamp beside him, and his expression was serene yet focused, as always.

“Hey,” you called softly, stepping inside.

He looked up, his sharp eyes softening when they met yours. “Something you need?”

“I, um…” You fidgeted, gripping the pages in your hands. “I was wondering if you’d… if you’d read something for me. And maybe tell me what you think?”

His gaze flickered to the papers you held, then back to your face. He set his book aside and leaned forward slightly. “Is it a story you wrote?”

“Yes,�� you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I don’t usually show my writing to anyone, but I thought you might… you might be the right person to read it.”

He nodded, his expression calm but encouraging. “I’d be honored to read it. May I?”

You handed over the manuscript, your fingers trembling as they brushed against his. He noticed but said nothing, only shifting in his seat to make room for you to sit beside him.

“Stay while I read?” he suggested, his tone gentle.

You hesitated, then nodded, sitting at the edge of the seat as he began reading. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. You fidgeted with your fingers, chewing your lip as your thoughts raced. What if he hated it? What if it wasn’t good enough?

Minutes stretched on like hours as his eyes scanned the pages, his expression unreadable. Occasionally, his lips quirked or his brows furrowed, and you found yourself holding your breath, hanging onto every subtle reaction.

Finally, he set the manuscript down and turned to you.

“Well?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Dan Heng regarded you for a moment, then said, “You’re talented. Your writing is vivid and heartfelt. I could tell you poured yourself into this.”

Your chest loosened, relief washing over you like a wave. “Really?”

He nodded. “There are a few places where the pacing could be tightened, and some descriptions that might benefit from more clarity, but overall, it’s captivating.”

His words filled you with a warmth you hadn’t expected. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “You have a gift, and it would be a shame to keep it hidden.”

You ducked your head, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Dan Heng. That means… a lot.”

He leaned back slightly, his gaze softening. “If you’d like, I can help you refine it. I’ve read enough books to know what works and what doesn’t.”

Your heart swelled at the offer. “I’d like that.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, rare and fleeting but genuine. “Good. I look forward to seeing more of your work.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt confident in your writing—not just because of Dan Heng’s feedback, but because you had taken the first step to share a piece of yourself. And knowing he was by your side made all the difference.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 54

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I am back to work tmrw.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You choose a simple dress. You like the shade of peach even as Loki eyes you archly. It might not be the choice that offends him but the state of yourself. Your nose is still healing, bandaged but not as heavily, and you have much left to recover. His own injuries remain tinged on his pale skin.

You shimmy the dress on and turn your back to him as he drones cynically. His fingers creep up along your bottom to meet the zipper and he tugs it up slowly. He’s reluctant. 

“What is it? You don’t like the dress?” You face him.

“I’d rather prefer you naked,” he purrs with a wink, “but I am not overly fond of the colour, no.” 

“Oh, but... you bought it?” 

“Yes, my sister did have it included in the purchase but... it is rather bright.” 

“I like it,” you run your hands over your stomach and hips, “it fits nicely but if you want me to change...” 

“No, darling, do what you wish,” he crosses his arms, “I must learn to let you do so.” 

You narrow your eyes. His malleability does not come without resentment. You shrug. You don’t have all day to be sussing out his preference. 

“What is it you and my mother have planned?” He asks. 

“I’m not certain,” you say as you search for your phone. The one he gave you. 

“No? Hm, darling, what about a necklace?” He goes to the jewellery box and plucks out a golden chain with a peridot emblem.  

“I guess,” you dig around in your work bag, most of your luggage still unpacked. 

“You guess? It is a pretty necklace. What about amethyst?” 

“Loki,” you fish out your phone but not the one you meant to. Your old flip.  

You put it down on the nightstand stiffly and return to your search. It feels so long ago that you were that person. That sad girl living with your father and flitting through a meandering existence. You won’t say you’ve moved up very much, still at the whim of a man, but you feel distant from that person. 

Perhaps Walpurgisnacht was more a rebirth than you could know. 

“Pet...” Loki comes closer as you retrieve your work phone. It’s dead.  

“I need to charge it,” you show him the device. 

“You should toss the old one. Doubt it even works.” 

“I know, I will. I have to back it up,” you say evasively. There’s not much on it but it’s the only connection you still have to your previous life. You’re not ready to slice through that last strand. 

“Mm, right then, well, another to do for the list,” he steps nearer and tickles your waist, “suppose you delay your little outing with my mother and I take you to lunch--” 

“She’s a guest, and your mother,” you rebuke. “Loki, I’m only doing what I need to do. Isn’t that what you want?” 

He sighs, “yes, but... it is still my house. I would like more than my leave. I should say when you need go pick out flowers or tablecloths or whatnot.” 

“Proposals typically lead to all that,” you say, “at least from what I know.” 

“What you know?” He muses. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few Kate Hudson movies,” you quip and give a goofy smile but quickly repress it. “Sorry, that wasn’t... funny.” 

His cheeks dimple and his nostrils flair, his lips slightly curved, “is that... humour? From you?” 

“Well, I... yeah, why not?” 

“Hm, it isn’t a slight but you are not one for laughter.” 

“Or maybe you’ve never made me laugh,” you blurt out and quickly snap your mouth shut. 

His brows drop and his smile too. You stare at him. Oops. You are getting to comfortable. Even if you are to be his wife, you aren’t his equal. You don’t know that you could ever be. 

He chuckles, “darling, how very sharp.” He reaches to frame your chin and turns you to him completely, “I should try harder then, to hear your sweet laughs.” 

You smile, a flutter in your chest, “that’s sweet.” 

“I am sweet,” he says, offended. “What do you mean?” 

You just stare at him. Is he kidding? 

“Don’t,” he warns with a frown. “Very well, go, have fun. Should I need anything, I will be certain to let mother know since you will be without tether...” he keeps his hand on you, squeezing, “you will be safe with her, I know.” 

“Loki,” you murmur, “he’s not coming back. He wouldn’t.” 

He stares at you solemnly, “no, he shouldn’t.” 

It seems as if he doubts his own words. For a moment, you do too. He knows his brother much better. Yet, how can Thor return when all have turned their backs on him? 

“There is no hurry, mother can wait...” 

“Loki, she’s only visiting,” you remind him, “the sooner it’s done, the sooner they go, right?” 

“Mm, you are clever,” he looks past you with apprehension, “suppose so. And I should speak with father about some things...” he leans in and kisses your forehead, withdrawing absently as he taps his fingertips together, “weddings and such...” 

You give him a look but he’s too distracted to notice. This whole affair is his idea and yet he is uncertain. You watch him placidly. 

“We don’t have to... marry--” 

“No, no,” he returns his attention to you, “of course we must. We will—how could you—oh, I know it is all very new to you, pet, but trust in me. It isn’t my first rodeo. Regrettably.” 

You feel a pang at the allusion to his previous marriage. You remember Sif with her sleek figure and her perfect smile and her sparkling eyes. You are second in all ways to her. 

“I should go,” you insist with a sniff. 

“Mm, yes, you should,” he grabs your shoulders and lays another kiss, this time on your lips. “I have told mother very strictly not to dawdle so you shouldn’t either.” 

“We’ll be fine,” you assure him. 

“When did you get so confident,” he teases as he retracts from you. 

You offer a sheepish smile. Not confident, but hopeful. A change nonetheless. 

✨

Frigga insists on lunch before you do anything. You’re struck with deja vu as she returns to that same place you went to with her sons. That day feels like eons ago but it’s been just over a month. 

The change feels all the more sudden after a lifetime of stagnancy. With your dad, every day blurred together, the constancy was as dull as it was oppressive. Yet, you mourn it all the same. The spontaneity and turbulence of your new existence proves just as paralysing at times. 

You may have gone from maid to fiancee, but it doesn’t dissolve your expected deference. You are marrying into the Odinsons, they have no need to ingratiate themselves to you. Even as the reminder of her elder son troubles you, you will not mention your worries aloud to the matriarch. 

Frigga orders a sparkling water with fruit, you ask for the same. The waitress is not subtle as she eyes your bandaged nose. Just another reason for you to feel out of place. It's tender but feels much better.

You peer up at the sky as you sit in the open patio and the scent of the curated flowers around the space wafts in the air. Your dress rustles and tickles your leg, causing you to flinch. Another flash of before. That day you ate with Thor at your side, his hand under the table... 

You shudder and blow away the memory. You reach for your water and sip as you look over the entrees. Your appetite is erratic. One second you’re ravenous, the next, nauseous. The tuna sounds good but sickening at once. You’ll get a salad. 

“We will have to plan an engagement party first. Perhaps a local venue for that,” she looks at her phone and turns it on its screen as you hear it buzzing. 

“Or the house? I thought... the gazebo...” 

“Mm, yes, I recall, what was the name of that contractor you hired? I wouldn’t mind a similar build back at our house. Oh, and perhaps if you did want to do the wedding at home as well, a wedding arch might be a thought. I’m certain a carpenter might be up to that task,” she continues, ignoring how her phone rattles her glass. “So, we’ll skip over venues then. But invitations, perhaps? Oo, do you have a dress in mind? A brunch or something in the evening?” 

You can hardly keep up with her questions. At least she offers distraction from the shadow looming over your shoulder. Both of them. If it isn’t one son, it’s the other. 

The waitress returns and you order. Frigga eyes you as she puts in for a monte cristo with the soup du jour. You try to smile. You’re tired. 

“Are you okay, dear? You’ve not been eating very much.” 

“Oh, haven’t I?” You squirm evasively. “I’m... fine, I guess I just have a lot on my mind.” 

“Oh, darling, forgive me if I am overloading you,” she fans herself with her hand, “I apologise. I’ve a bad habit of getting head over feet about these things. I have so many ideas all at once but if I sit still, I feel I might burst.” 

Her words call you back to Loki pacing and circling at the hotel, then at home, he manic muttering. 

“It’s alright. I don’t think of any of it. I don’t know where to begin,” you assure her. 

“Ah, well, yes, but I’ve had a wedding and my son’s had a wedding already,” she chuckles, “so I do have a bit more experience. You shouldn’t worry terribly if you have questions. I am simply here to guide you.” 

“I know--” 

Her phone shakes again and she sighs.  

“Pardon,” she tilts the phone up and you see the incoming call; Loki. She quickly turns off the ringer. “My, he is a pest. It cannot be that important--” 

“I don’t have my phone,” you say, “maybe he needs something.” 

“My son can wait. He is so selfish. Especially about you. Surely, he trusts his own mother,” she scoffs, “anyhow, I think a luncheon might be pleasant enough. Perhaps with a theme. Summer is here and the flowers will be lovely this time of season.” 

“Excuse me, miss,” the waitress comes up to the table, a cordless phone in her hand, “there’s a gentleman on the phone asking for you.” 

You frown at Frigga then glance up, realising the woman is speaking to you. You blink and take the phone from her. You put it to your ear, staring at Frigga. 

“Hello?” 

“Pet,” Loki bursts eagerly, “oh, I knew you’d be there. Yes, I only wanted to check in, hear your voice, but I couldn’t get through to mother.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, we were just ordering--” 

‘Give me the phone’ Frigga mouths and gestures. 

“I...” you begin and her green eyes flare. You hand over the phone. 

“Loki, this is not your time. You can wait. We are busy. You have a lovely day and we will be home in a few hours,” she says tritely, “certainly, you might find something to keep yourself busy.” 

She doesn’t wait for his response as she hits the end button and hands the phone back to the server, thanking her with a smile. The brunette flits away and you tap your fingers on the table top. Frigga plays with a wave and pushes it behind her ear, “darling, don’t even worry about my son. You just focus on yourself.” 

“Thank you, I just...” 

“You just don’t worry,” she repeats, “if my son has issue with us doing exactly as we told him we would, then he may take it up with me. Uh, he always was a needy little boy.” 

You almost laugh. You might agree with part of her sentiment but you could never imagine Loki as a little boy. In your mind, he just seems as if he’s always been grown. Not like you.  

You’ve always felt clueless and inadequate. As if you never moved past childhood, that you got caught behind some wall and watched the adults from afar. Yet, now that you’re on the other side, you still feel a barrier. Like them, but not the same. 

Not like the Odinsons especially. A family. You don’t have any of that. The more you think of the wedding, the more you see empty seats. No bridesmaids, not father-daughter dance, no one on your side. 

“Dear, have I upset you?” Frigga cuts the silence and you catch yourself staring at the table. 

You shake your head and sit up, “no, sorry, just thinking...” you scramble for a lie. You hate that you do that so often now, “what about a tea party?” 

“A tea party? Marvelous, I love it,” she trills, “oh, yes, we will have to find some fine porcelain for the event.” 

“Loki has lots--” 

“Yes, but this is special, dear. You’ll need a special set so you can always remember the party. Oh, and teas. There is a tea shop nearby. They sell loose leaf. We can have a whole array. Ooh, and biscuits, pastries...” she begins to list off. You let her, thankful to forget everything else for the minutest of details. Tea is easy. 

[colectingstrz]

INCOMPATIBLE HARMONY

⤿ a beautiful passion of hatred driving a narrow pathway for foreign emotions and surging familiar ones.

𐙚 g: enimes to lovers, university au, fluff here and there, angst. wc: 10.6k w: one kiss and mentions of a parent passing p: Jay x f reader

𐙚 - like 70% proof read it’s so long I tried 😪

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨�� ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ

Your mother always said, “Either kill or be killed,” and you regrettably learned the hard way. Life is not easy, and it never will be. You must work for your goals and eliminate any potential distractions, even if they are those you care about. Everything that matters is success. Yet with more independence and freedom of choice u start to crack a little straying further and further away from the motto showing weakness and vulnerability. Success no longer being your priority as you found your focus on a particular someone.

you certainly would not mind eliminating a specific individual , a pest.. a loud, foul mouthed, vile, obnoxious, beastly, filthy inconvenience such as park.

It's not surprising to hear Jay harbours the same feelings as you; it's almost romantic when you think about it. Two people with a passionate desire hatred for one another.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Unfortunately, your Monday became more dreary when you met him waiting outside your professor's door, whom you had intended to meet.

“What are you doing here” Jay ignored you and continued typing stuff on his phone. The sound of his fingers aggressively tapping on his screen bothered you. “Hello? You know it's rude to ignore somebody while they're addressing you.”

Finally, he raises his deep, dismal eyes to meet yours. “I'm so sorry your majesty I didn't like your tone” he said with a grin “what's wrong with my tone? this is how I always talk why are your..so dramatic” You crossed your arms, your tolerance dwindling as you endured this discourse.

“No... today your tone seems more boooorish” you raised an eyebrow at his strange choice of words; you had no understanding what he had just said, which irritated you even more. You despised the way he used sophisticated vocabulary as if he were from 1985. “Do you want to purposefully mislead me? What do you think because you use fancy phrases, you're better than me, you antiquated freak”

Jay grinned. You despised it when he smiled because it felt like he was mocking you, it made you feel little, and you despised every moment of it. “Intentionally yes I'm glad to see it's working it brings me joy to see u distressed-and confused when I mess with ur little narrow minded brain maybe if u spent ur time reading rather than selling ur self out at party's every weekend you would actually know what im saying half the time”

You close your eyes sighing loudly as you try to compose your anger. He was wrong so wrong

Jay smirked as he recognised he had won. Picking up his bag, he approaches you and gently pats over your shoulder, “What's wrong? Can't bite back? Better luck next time, love.” Before you could respond, he walks away, descending down the corridor, leaving you to throw an internal fit as you accept your defeat.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

“Are you coming to Jake's party tonight? It's at his beach mansion” you shrug as you begin to gather your belongings from your desk. “I'm not sure... with this approaching test, I need time to study.” Yujin rolls her eyes, grasping your arm in a plea “Pleaaaaaaaaaaseeee I don't wanna go by myself it's just one party it's not going to ruin your perfect 4.0 GDA!” you lightly break free from her grasp, “correction it's GPA.. and stop clinging onto me like a leech I know damm well u have plenty of other friends if I don't come it's not the end of the world” She groans.

“What if it is the end of the world! your my best freind I want to go with you w..what if I pass out ?? What if I.. uh.. get lost” she blurs out nonsense and you watch in disbelief shaking your head, preparing to turn and leave.

“Park Sunghoon is comming by the way”

You come to a halt in your tracks, slowly turning around. “Really?..Are you saying that only to get me to co- “yes! Really, he's back from France now; there's no way he'll miss Jake's party.” You sigh deeply, pondering whether a single male who is cute is more essential than your future. “I'll think about it.” Yujin smiles, grabbing you in an embrace and showering you with thank yous as if you answered yes (deep down you know it was a yes as well), before she swiftly leaves for her next class.

What you felt for Sunghoon was like a disease, slowly devouring you from the inside out. You've been pinning for him since your first year of university, and you thought it was just a crush until it wasn't. Now, a year later, your feelings have grown stronger. You would do anything to be in the same space as him-not to talk just to admire from afar You were a woman of many words, but in this instance, Sunghoon was different. It's as if you lost the basic mechanics of communication when talking to him; it's too embarrassing to go through again, so you avoid it at all costs and prefer to admire his features . Even in group setting with your friends you keep your conversations to a minimum.

And, of course, evil forces decided to flirt with and entice you once more by bringing not just Sunghoon but also his pest of a friend Jay into your presence as you make your way down the hall to your next class.

“Oh hey y/n it's been a while” Sunghoon smiles as he embraces you cheerfully. “Oh..h..hi umm how was France and the skating Ice- um, I mean ice skating,” you mentally leaped in front of a bus and ran yourself over 76 times because of the idiotic mistake you just made in front of him. “The ice skating competition was good I should hear back in about a week if I've qualified for the semi finals how have you been?” He looks at you intently and quietly, waiting for your response, while Jay silently notes every element of your expression. Both of their stares made you feel little uneasy, as if you were a vase on display in a museum, attracting a lot of attention. You felt your palms start to sweat.

“That's great to hear! Um.. I've been alright just p..preparing for exams right now.” You give him a constant smile, attempting to distract him from your inability to pronounce a simple basic ass word. “Yikes, midterms.. Hope you do well-Oh! Are you going to Jake's party? Or are you going to study? Parties weren't always your thing” Just as you open your mouth to speak, a rat joins in on the conversation despite the fact that he was not invited.

“Sunghoon it seems you've been gone a while she loves parties I see her at them all with that yujin girl I'm sure she won't miss this one will you y/n?” You glare at Jay, directing your focus to him, and imagine all the horrible ways you would torture him for ruining a moment with your crush. “I'm sure she can speak for herself, and trust me, Jay y/n is not a party girl... well, I have a class to go to, so maybe I'll see you at the party,” he smiles one final time before walking away, leaving you and Jay in solitude.

“Do you lack basic manners? Why are you entering into a conversation that has nothing to do with you? He was talking to meeee the last time I checked, and your not y/n.”He shrugged, “My manners are perfect, thank you very much, and I'm open to adding my two cents wherever I want to; all I did was state the facts.” You roll your eyes and reposition your back to hang over your shoulder.

“Facts? Stop acting like you know me Jay, you don't. You're not my friend, you're not my anything. Stay out of my business and my life.” You leave him as quickly as you spoke, bumping your shoulder against his as you storm down the hall.

Something you said right then must have touched a chord, since Jay's mood plummeted for the rest of the day.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Parties are just mobs of people, the perfect place for germs to hibernate and circulate like wildfire, with loud music that bursts your eardrums, piles of sweaty bodies, and excessive amounts of alcohol. You don't see what Yujin sees in this type of activity, but the show must go on, and it's too late to back out now.

Deeper within the mashion are Jay, Jake Sunghoon, and Jungwon, who are playing pool round after round. “Sunghoon, did you find any hot French girls or what?”Jake asks, peeking over to see Sunghoon as he effortlessly knocks down two of his targets into the hole. “Ice skating pre occupied me.. plus I still like her”

Now that Jay has disconnected from his talk with Jungwon, his ears immediately peek up at the sound of Sunghoon's crush, and he listens in curiously. He rarely discusses such topics, especially after his heartache with his ex Chaewon.

“Her? Omg bro it’s been monthhhhs” sunghoon sighs “I know.. but she’s just really pretty and kind I really want to get to know her more this year” Jake laughs placing a hand on his chest “ get to know her? Last year you barely held a conversation with the girl u need to work on your game if u wanna bag a girl like y/n”

Jay lifts his brow in disbelief and confusion. Sunghoon liked you. Considering the millions of girls he could have picked. Jay was completely baffled. Great distress surged over him. He became so outraged that he could no longer bear to listen to the discourse. Jay turns to the pool table, leaving a perplexed Jungwon in the middle of his sentence.

“Do you like y/n? Really, dude? Raise your standards.” Jake's mouth drops agape at his comment, and Sunghoon crosses his arms. “Yeah, I like her, and what about it? I think She's a great girl, what's it to you?” Sunghoon now turns to Jay, looking him down. The mood in the room shifts, and Jungwon, who is watching from a distance, becomes anxious about what is going on.

“It's nothing to do with me I'm just looking out for you as a freind she's not a good person” Sunghoon doesn't say anything for a time and simply stares at Jay. “Maybe u haven't had a good experience with her.. that's your opinion but I've had good with her and I'll stick to my opinion thanks for the concern bro” Sunghoon turns, grabs his drink, and leaves the room.

Jay gulped, grabbing the edge of the pool table firmly in rage. How could Sunghoon not realise what an awful person you were? All he wanted was to look out for him. Again, everything is always your fault. Jay groans as he steps outdoors, leaving the manshion.

He walks outdoors on the sidewalk, trailing his feet. He stares ahead to the shore, watching the clam ripples of water. He groans and walks on, but he comes to a halt when he notices you coaching against the wall with your head down.

He immediately becomes enraged again; it was your fault he was out here, and it was your reason he got into a fight with Sunghoon. He comes up to you talking this opportunity to throw a dig “so much for not being a party girl look at you here all drunk and wasted outside on the floor no self composure what so ever”

He waits, but your witty retort never arrives. He lifts his brow lightly, bending down to shove you, but is met once more with the presence of stillness. Jay feels an awful discomfort in his gut. He bends down to get a closer look, only to find your eyes closed and your hand grasping your chest while you breathe extensively.

“Y/n?… Hey y/n” he holds your shoulder trying to urge a response. “t..to many..” he moves his head closer angling his ear towards you “repeat that for me” you muster all the strength in your body to speak “c..claustrophobic..I’m..clau..” Jay hums in realisation.

He thinks quickly on his feet sitting down on the concrete, reaching for your hand and replacing the one on your chest with his own. “Listen to me right now. I need you to breathe in and out slowly, with 3 seconds in between, okay? Can u do that for me” you weakly nod, obeying his directions.

Each time you did, he would lightly sweeze your hand in encouragement, giving you reassuring “well done’s”and “your getting there's” the whole affair felt strange to you. He was really pleasant, calm, patient, and caring towards you. It was rare for Jay this came out of nowhere, but you didn't question it and accepted it with open arms because you needed it.

Shortly after you find your self calm. But the lingering feeling of jays eyes on you as the two of you sit in silence was uncomfortable. You find your self subconsciously looking down to your feet playing with your fingers. “So.. your claustrophobic I never knew that” you shrug still looking down “well yeah.. it’s not a big deal anyways” he hummus “seems like a pretty big deal if it weren’t for me you would have passed out”

You roll your eyes “no I would have been fine this isn’t the first time I topically do this alone no assistance needed park” Jay humms again his hand reaching to cup your chin forcing you to raise your head and look at him. You were shocked at the sudden contact and the way his hand felt so warm againt your cold skin. “Well..um are you okay now looking at your face you seem it” he then used his hand to turn your head slightly as he analyses your face. “I’m..I’m fine thank you”

A tingly feeling perks within him but he shuts it down nodding removing his hand from your skin. The absence of warmth had you feeling cold again but you brushed it off. Jay suddenly stands up dusting dirt off his back and reaches out his hand to you “come I’ll drive you home I’m assuming you woukd rather not go back in there” he raises a brow you nod hesitantly accepting his hand as he wraps it around your firmly.

“My car is about a 10 min walk are u fine with that? Well doesn’t matter if ur not we still have to walk regardless just letting you know anyway” you laugh a little feeling the sense of familiarity again this was more like jay. More like the jay you knew more like the jay you were used too. Yet that feeling in your stomach didn’t leave.

“Don’t do this again” you raise a brow “pardon?” Jay turns to you “going out in the dark at night in some alley by yourself something easily could have happened to you and no one would be there to save you” you roll your eyes “I know u don’t actually care about what happens to me stop acting like you do plus.. I was close to the beach house I would have been fine” jay sighs shaking his head “belive it all not im not a horrible human being your a girl and that make sure automatically vulnerable alone at night im just warning you love”

You humm “just save me next time then” you finnaly turn to look at him awaiting his reaction as he silently looks at you not saying a word. You quickly look away now feeling awkward regretting your exsistnce.

“Pay me I’m not playing superman for free”

Now at the car it’s mostly silent but a comfortable silence never in your life would you think you would be in jays car having him drive you to your dorm but life is full of surprises isn’t it. Soon you arrive home giving him a Short and firm bye before heading to your door.

Little to your knowledge even once you have entered your dorm Jay remains in his car watching you until he sees the lights shine in ur room confirming you have settled.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Studying was supposed to be peaceful and quiet, but all of that was disrupted the moment you invited Jake to join you.

You wouldn't call him a nuisance, but he was more distracting than anything else. Every 4 minutes, he'd start chatting about strange stuff, and when he wasn't talking, he'd be toying with your hair or poking your check unless he was performing some random asmr with his pen. Sometimes you wish you could just duct wrap his mouth so he would stop talking.

“Jake... please I'm really trying to focus here you know I have an exam soon” he looks down as if you had just rejected or something it made you feel a little bad “Fine.. if you want me gone just say that!” He crosses his arms and looks away, and you sigh, rubbing his shoulder, “It's not that it’s just you talk too much, I need quiet... on second thought yeah, leave, we can hang out later.” You sigh and Jake's mouth opens wide at your unexpected change of direction, huffing silently as he turns to go.

Peace and quiet has made a comeback

You smile to yourself as you study, but as usual, your tranquilly is short-lived when you hear the loud smack of a book beside you. Looking up, there's no one but jay. You raise a curious eyebrow; hardly one visits this section of the library unless a friend tags along, and you've never seen Jay here.

“What brings you here you don't come here this is my space” Jay ignores you, bringing out his laptop, iPad, and any extra papers. “I've come here to study obviously your not the only one who has exams here and last time I checked your name isn't plastered anywhere here so this is everyone's space,” he smiles and returns to getting his stuff.

You groan, your gaze returning to your laptop to drown him out and remain focused. However, that was difficult to do given how fiercely he was looking at you.

“Um, is there a reason why you keep looking at me like that? It makes me uncomfortable.” Jay's eyes stay hanging on yours. “Looking at you? what is it a crime to look at another human being? Arrest me.” He rolls his eyes. You shake your head, closing your laptop and giving him your entire attention.

“Your looking at me like ur going to eat me alive I don't like it please direct your eyes Literally anywhere else” Jay chuckles, moving his head closer to the point your noses would almost just almost connect . “Maybe I should eat you so I don't have to hear your nagging every day. I'll devour you whole nice and slow..how does that sound?”

Unbeknownst to you, a flush rushed across your ears, to which Jay saw with a wide grin. “That's!..that's really inappropriate, Jay. You can't just say things like that to a woman.” He tilts his head, leaning closer. His hot breath stimulating your exposed skin.

“I didn't mean it in that way get your head out of the gutter you.. naughty girl tsk” he paused for a second before starting again “plus I don't really see you as a woman” you raise a brow in disbelief and offence.

“So you’re gay?”

He then abruptly moved back. “Gay? Don't make such a misleading statement; I'm really attracted to women.” You smile slightly, seeing this as an opportunity to twist him even further. “But if you do not view me as a woman, you must see me as a man? And you want to devour this man whole, don't you? Nice and slow Don't worry, your secret is safe with me,” you giggle, covering your mouth from laughing so hard as you watched the dread drown out his face, which turned pale.

“Shut up you’re always so loud and wrong you really think I like men?” You nod “this conversation is proof right here of the Jay is gay statement” Jay places his fingers gently squeezing his temple in vexation. He didn’t appreciate being accused of liking men when he clearly is straight and didn’t like that it was you out of all people.

But

Suddenly he felt the need-the urge to prove it to you he wanted to show you just how wrong you were he wanted to put you in your place and shut you up. So he did just that

Jay leans over in a matter of seconds, one hand behind your neck, the other yanking on your lanyard, forcing tight proximity as he slams his lips against yours. If someone walked in right now, they wouldn't believe their eyes. You didn’t belive it yourself.

His lips brushed against yours, softly and carefully, like you were fragile and he was scared to shatter or harm you. His lips graced yours like butterfly wings, just long enough for him to inhale your breath, feeling the warmth of your skin in his palm as he pulled you in deeper, and the flavour of your strawberry lipgloss lingered in his head, driving him insane.

As soon as it started it quickly ended as you somehow snapped back into reality and roughly pushed him for you. Not wanting to meet his gaze you turn hastily packing your things and leaving as quickly as possible. Leaving a stunned and confused Jay alone in the library.

You slide your back down the wall of an empty corridor, like a dramatic main lead In a teenage drama attempting to regain your calm and gain a grasp of what happened just a few seconds earlier. Were you crazy--or was he crazy? Why did he kiss you, and why was it so long? Most importantly, why did you like it? You loved it You smacked yourself to recover your focus. Choosing to disregard this portion of the day as if it never occurred so that you can sleep soundly tonight.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

After ten minutes of overthinking your life choices in the lounge area, the bell rings for lunch. You grab your phone and text Yunjin to come meet you as soon as possible. She soon appears and sits next to you. You had intentions of telling her but you couldn’t bring yourself too

“What's so urgent that you nee- you having a bad makeup day?” You lift your eyebrow “What?” “My makeup is fine, what do you mean?" she shakes her head, pointing to your lips. “Not your entire makeup, just your lip makeup, it's all smudged.” Flickers of the kiss swarm in your thoughts, making you nauseous.

You quickly get out your mirror attempting to fix it.

“Jay can I ask you something?” Jay nods as he takes a bite out of his sandwich “you smell unusual today” Jay raises an eyebrow, causing Jungwon and Sunghoon to focus on Jake's words: “Yeah, I noticed you smelled kinda fruity today, like... starberries” Jungwon continues, causing Jake to nod in agreement, “I don't smell like that; you're probably smelling something else.”

Unknowingly, while Jay continued to eat, seemingly a little concerned by the claims, Sunghoon discreetly watched Jay, his gaze fixed on the faint hint of lipgloss on his lips.

“Oh my gosh... look at his lips, there's lipgloss. You must have had some action before lunchtime,” Jake wriggles his brows, elbowing Jay. He gulps uneasily, caressing his lip and instantly recalling what he had done; he closes his eyes in regret. “Unless…ur gay? Or something I don’t discriminate ” Jake patted his shoulder

“I knew it I knew u were gay” jay now shoots his head up at that voice your voice as you and yunjin approach his table. You and yunjin were freinds with the rest of jays freinds and sometimes would eat with them though yunjin would limit interactions with jay as by her words “any enemy of my friends is an enemy of mine”

“Jay is gay?” Sunghoon laughs and finally joins the conversation, “Jay and gay, that rhymes!” Jake yelled earning some looks directed at your table Jay simply scowls, “Shut up, both of you.” Jay stands up and grabs his bag and sandwich before leaving. You sighed with relief as he went; sitting directly opposite him seemed wired after what had happened.

It appears that both of you failed to sleep well that night, so you spent it studying to pass the time, while Jay spent it twisting and turning in his bed, extremely upset and ashamed by his irresponsible behaviour. He wishes he could go back in time and prevent it from ever happening.

However, the burning sensation in his chest could not be ignored, and the taste of your strawberry lipgloss lingered on his tongue. He closed his eyes, remembering the taste and feel of your soft lips on his.

The next day was difficult, primarily because you had a council meeting, and of course the vice president had to be Jay, and you the head sadly had a private meeting every 15th, which left you two sitting in an office in silence

“Sooooo..” You spoke but no other words left your lips “should we reschedule this meeting at this rate we will make no progress if you can't even look me in the eye” you grimace a little

“Maybe if a certain somone didn’t just pull up and force themselves onto me I could look them in the eye” you whisper slightly folding your arms turning away. “Force? I didn’t force myself onto you it was mutual” you raise a brow “was it how?”

“You kissed me back and even added your tongue a little; you were clearly into it and wanted it- “shut up please” you placed your fingers on his lips, shushing him before he could humiliate you any further. “Can we change the subject I’m begging” Jay wanted to say more, but judging by your tone and look, he held back.

“Sorry” now, for the first time since this meeting began, you choose to look him in the eye “it was wrong of my to just kiss you out of nowhere I didn't respect your boundaries and I apologise” stunned, you remained silent for a moment before answering “thank you Jay” you smile a little for a split second before it fades away, not wanting to smile for too long because it's Jay after all.

He nods “can we like.. forget this ever happened” you don’t know what it is that you felt then but it was unsettling. You gulped it down agreeing with jays words. “Then let’s start this meeting then”

After a long 30-minute meeting, you and Jay split ways. You go to the library again because you have some free time and run into Sunghoon along the way. You consider many options for running. It's too late; he's already noticed you and invited you to come over.

“hi Sunghoon,” he smiles, waving, “hi y/n, so... do you have any free time right now?” You said, with a nod, “wanna come watch me practise at the rink?” You nodded again, but this time with too much enthusiasm, like a dog. You were embarrassed, but it was difficult to contain your excitement.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

It was chilly. Fortunately, Sunghoon, being the gentleman he is, offered you his puffer, and even though you declined it 15 times, he insisted on forcing you to put it on and zipping you up. The attention in this situation felt good.

You stared in admiration as he skated; he was truly in his element, doing what he does best. You were captivated by how beautifully he swirled and twirled. You hoped you could watch him every day if your schedule wasn't so busy. Interrupting your little display, Yujin texted you.

Yapper: me and the guys are comming over the the rink to ice skate do you wanna come with?

Me: I’m already there? I’m watching Sunghoon practice :)))

Yapper : ARE U LOT ON A ICEY SKATEY DATE? ARE WE INTERRUPTING

Me: NO. He just asked since I also had a free you guys can still come it would be fun I’ll let Sunghoon know

Yapper: if you say so 👀 and btw your bestie is comming

Me: shut up you know dam well he’s not my “bestie” call him that again and I’ll block you

Calling out to Sunghoon, you step down and stand at the edge so he can hear you. “The others are coming down to skate by the way." Sunghoon nods. “Is Jay coming?” You're confused as this was such an unusual and precise inquiry to ask; he should just assume he's coming. You wanted to question further.

“Why are you asking? Is there a reason he shouldn't come?" Sunghoon hastily shakes his head, “I was only wondering—“why? Did something happen?” Sunghoon shakes his head again, “no, I just want to know that's all,” you humm, not believing a word he says. It's times like these that your psychology major comes in handy it was obvious he was lying to you. “Jay is coming”

Soon after they arrived, as you had previously briefed Sunghoon, he prepared and distributed everyone's skates. Jake eagerly put on his skates, excited and ready to go and followed Sunghoon towards the rink. Even when Jungwon and Yujin joined, you still struggled to put on your left shoe.

You attempted to fit your foot in again but failed. You were ready to give up and just watch instead.

“Are you gonna cry over an ice skate?” He teased triggering your frown “No!..this is just really hard” you turn back and try to put it back on for the fifth time. Jay rises up and crouches down in front of you, keeping the shoe in place.

“What are you—“helping I'm helping you, dumbass I'm holding the shoe in place so you can put your foot in, go on.” You comply, pushing your foot in with ease. Before you could reach down to tie the lace, Jay beats you to it, tapping your foot lightly once he's finished. “Thanks” Jay hummed as he turned to leave. Realisation came over you immediately, and you grabbed the hem of his jeans. “Wait, I don't think I can walk on my own. Just help me to the entrance” Jay grumbled, carrying your body up with ease.

“I'll just hold your hand the whole way and bring you to Yujin alright” you agreed, and he now held your hand in his, and you felt the warmth again, just like that night. You didn’t want to let go. Though from afar a pair of flaming eyes watched the scene unfold

“Come on Sunghoon I'm showing you my spin!” Jake yelled as he dragged Sunghoon's arm, diverting his attention. Despite this, Sunghoon cast glances at you and Jay as you entered the rink hand in hand, like some corny couple, and clinched his teeth in anger.

“This is so scary!” Jay glances at you, “You haven't done this before?” You shake your head. “No... this is all new to me, which is why I couldn't do my other shoe properly.” Jay now turns to you, putting your other hand in his. “Do you want me to show you something? I won't let go; don't worry, I'm not the evil creature you see me to be” his comment makes you chuckle “you sooo are if there wasn't any witness I'm so confident you would let go and leave me to fall” Jay rolls his eyes and begins to skate backwards slowly. “w..woah there What are you doing!? What if you bumb into someone! And then boom I fall have an accident and crack my head open and blee-“shh..clam down love im a pro.. I know exactly what im doing now watch and learn newbie”

Jay effortlessly glides backwards, occasionally whirling the two of you in a circle, abruptly changing from fast to slow and slow to fast. It made you a little disoriented, but it was entertaining. Soon, your freinds took notice.

“ I never thought I would see jay and y/n that close to eacother with out any violence involved” jungwon said with a smile “same.. when i look at them now it's kinda cute don't you think ?” Yujin seems complexly clueless of Sunghoon's crush on you: “uh.. nahh, I don't see it”Jake rushes in and shuts off that particular issue, mindful of Sunghoon's facial expression. Jake quickly skates towards the two of you and splits you up.

“Hey guysss y/n I wanna show u somthing come” Jake takes your hands, replacing Jay's warm ones with his chilly ones and yanking you away from him. You felt empty again, and you weren't sure why.

After approximately an hour of ceaseless skating, the others left for ice cream, but you, Jay, and Sunghoon decided to go to study. It felt odd walking back to campus; you could sense the tension, as if you knew something had happened and wanted to know more.

Before u had the chance to bring it up Sunghoon departed calming “something came up” leaving you and Jay alone. It was silent but a comfortable silence you kept talking glances at Jay really only because he kept talking glances at you he seemed he wanted to say somthimg so you gave him the green light

“I know u have something to say don’t be a pussy” Jay chocked on air at the sudden directness “well.. if you say so then please just here here me out when I say this but I really need something form you it’s kinda last minute but your the only option I have” You nodd urging him to talk “my mom is hosting one of her business events but during it she wants to set me up with a daughter of one of her brand partners but shes..she’s I can’t stand her really and..I was wondering-hoping actually if you can step in just for tonight as my temporary date so my mom doesn’t set me with her…??” Jay closes his eyes expecting the worst yet you say nothing he opens your eyes to observe you

Your countenance gradually changes, and you burst out laughing, “Jay, I never took you for the funny type, oh my..” Jay doesn't find any of this funny and frowns “I'm being serious y/n” you glance at him and your face slowly lowers as you realise he is genuinely serious “ well first of all, I don't wanna be dragged into y'all's rich people drama before they assassinate me in my sleep or some shit” Jay throws his hands in the air “no!..no this is real life not some tv show bs your overthinking this nothing bad is going to happen its just one night stop being dramatic!”

“I am not finished. Second, you don't really like me, and I don't really like you, so it makes no sense that we act like a couple. Third, I'm sure someone else would be better for this... you're not all that dumb, so no way I'm a contender.” Jay sighs, recognising that convincing you will be more difficult than he expected. He lays his hands on both shoulders and shoots you with an expression of great desperation.

“I can't ask anyone else; it's this night, and I'm running out of time. You're the only person I think can handle or tolerate my mother. I really need this, please. I'll do everything, give you anything, just do me this one favour.” You place your finger on your chin and tap it, trying to prolong this moment enjoying every second of jays expression. You glance into his yearning stare. “Hmm, I don't know..” Jay holds your shoulder more tightly than previously. “Please y/n you owe me I've helped you 2 times now this is the least you can do for me” you let out a sigh giving in “sure give me 50k” Jay opens his mouth in surprise at the outrageous quantity.

“Oh that’s not..” you sigh “you said anything this classifies as anything your rich aren’t you? You’re basically a walking bank! this should be nothinggg” Jay sighs “fine..but only after you have gone I’ll send it to you understood” you nod “if this is what its like to have a sugar daddy..then I’ll gladly come to every event can you imagine? 50k per event I might as well drop out of uni and start travelling the world” Jay chuckles at your imagination he found you amusing.

“I think I'm a bit young to be a sugar daddy plus I would never willingly wanna spoil a brat like you someone like you needs discipline” your smile dimes kissing your teeth you pinch his arm earning a groan

“What makes you think I want you to be my sugar daddy!? I'm not a brat, and I don't deserve to be disciplined at all, especially by someone like you. Take your own advice.” Jay hums, “You want to discipline me? Didn’t know you were into that” He smirked, leading you to glance away. “Why are you saying it that way!..You're so weird Jay, this is why you don't get any girls because you're a fucking creep.” He laughs, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.

“yet your going to a fancy event with this creep tonight aren’t you?”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Another thing you didn't expect was Jay to be in your dorm room, just you and him. Jay had bursted in pushing some bags into your chest.

“What's this?” He rolls his eyes. “Are you blind?” It's obviously shopping bags full of clothes and shoes. Use your common sense...anyway, I chose this outfit out for you, so go and wear it; the party is in an hour.” You grumble in irritation, going to the bathroom to change.

You would have preferred that instead of parting ways after the conversation, he had informed you of the timing so you could have begun working on your hair and makeup instead of turning up to close to the time where you were in your lounge wear

After getting ready, you come out and present yourself to Jay. It was a long wine-colored green dress shoulder less showing your collarbone. The sleeves ended at your wrist, slightly flared. It embraced your curves, trailing down to the floor and encompassing your body--in a wonderful manner. Jay matched it with gold earrings that flowed down, a simple necklace with a diamond in the centre, and low heels. Jay hummed in fulfilment, looking down at you from top to bottom.

“How do I look?” Jay nods, “You look good, so good I'll turn straight for you.” You smile and laugh at his comment. It seemed he did have a sense of humour. You excuse yourself shortly rushing to do your hair and makeup while Jay is getting ready in your room. Shortly after, you emerge, stunned to discover his finished look.

He was dressed in an all-black suit with a black turtleneck, which wonderfully highlighted his features, particularly his jawline. You didn't want to acknowledge it, but he looked great. You subconsciously ogled at him, and Jay smiled proudly. “You like what you see love?” You shake your head, “Meh, it's fine I guess.” Jay grins to himself at how quickly you denied, as if your mouth didn't water at the sight of him. “Well then let's get going wouldn't want to be late now would we”

Soon you arrive. Jay comes out and opens your door, assisting you out of the vehicle and locking it behind him. He rests his hand on your waist, but he soon removes it. You turn to him “Can I put my hands there? Are you okay with that?” You nod gently, reassuring him. He places his hand back there, confirming to you the warmth you didn't realise you were missing. It made you feel at ease.

You both walk in while Jay greets all these people you don't recognise. To say you felt out of place is an understatement; you were dressed appropriately, but you didn't feel the part. Soon, a woman appeared, and from her appearance, you could tell she was Jay's "scary" mother, his words not yours.

“Hello, my lovely boy. Oh! And who could this be? Jay smiles and pulls you closer, “This is my date y/n.. and y/n this is my mother.” You bow and smile at her. “hello it's lovely to meet you Mrs park” His mother looks you over, looking for flaws to criticise you for. She stiffly smiles, but you know it's not genuine. “Hello there dear.. it's a pleasure to meet you. What do your parents do hmm?” You gulp.

Clearly, you and Jay did not think this through; you had not prepared anything, so you simply stated the truth. “My father was a senior clinical psychologist and my mother is a paralegal” she hums as she takes a sip of her drink. “So your parents aren't doing so well,” “ah.. what a same” you wrinkle a brow, “pardon? What do you mean by that, Mrs. Park,” she shrugs.

“A psychologist? Might as well have been a doctor, far more money, and a paralegal, was it not enough to not just be a lawyer, maybe she failed law school? I guess.. everyone has to find a means to get by."

Your rage must have been obvious. Jay gently squeezed your waist, rubbing it slightly. You couldn't tell if it was to calm you down or a warning not to overreact, but you moved on impulse. No one would speak about your parents, especially your father, who had passed away.

“Listen here..Mrs Park. I do not appreciate your comments regarding my parents' employment. As you seem to be unaware about, a psychologist is a very wonderful vocation. My father was the head of his own business and owned it; he worked in private health care. He earned a lot of money, more than enough to fucking survive…” you took a deep breath to gain composure “Oh! and for your information, I'm also studying psychology so that when I'm older, I can be as successful as my father-and just because my mother isn't in the spotlight of a law profession doesn't mean her work is any less important; she does all of the behind-the-scenes paperwork without the help of others like her , lawyers would have nothing to present in court. I’m sure you didn’t know that since your mindset is clearly limited”

Mrs park gasps and opens her mouth to inject but you cut her off “My mother makes a lot of money; she's not a billionaire, but she lives nicely and has raised me and my brothers comfortably, so do your research before you start talking down on jobs.” You handed Jay your drink and turned away to leave.

Jay's mother was taken aback because no one had ever spoken to her like that before. She was silent; you chewed and spat her out. As yunijin would say “you ate that girl” Jay was fairly pleased of how you stood up for yourself in the face of disagreements. One thing he liked about you was that no matter who it were, you held firm for what you believed in and never gave in to anyone else. “That insolent, arrogant brat! How could she!?” Jay turned to his mother. “She may be a brat at times, but she is not arrogant in general please stop from talking about my date in any unfavourable way, mother…” Jay quickly turned to walk after you.

You sigh as you step out onto a random balcony, embracing the chill. You lean on the edge, looking over the neighbourhood and gazing at the stars.

“The sky is beautiful isn't it?” You humm your eyes, not leaving what is in front of you. “Are you trying to flirt with me right now?” He rolls his eyes “maybe.. is it working love?” you smirk “if anything im turned off repulsed even disgusted it- “alright no need to over do it like I'm some creature who lacks in every ability to charm a woman” you look him in the eye “maybe you are? But one things for sure you certainly did not charm ms back there park. Neither your mother but that’s not the focus”

Jay's smile shrivels under the implications of your words, and he moves closer to you. “Listen.. my mother, like I said, she's scary, and it's hard to voice my opinions against her.” You cross your arms. “I get that, but she basically humiliated and billeted my parents. I know we're not close, but even if you said something or tried to stop her, I'd have appreciated feeling like im not on my own back there...you know? But I think I anticipated too much from you.”

Jay sighed. “What do you mean by that, and what are you trying to say? Trust me, I wanted to say something but couldn't bring myself to…” “ I'm sorry, I really wish I said something. I didn't like how she talked to you either, and I want to take accountability for that because she's my mother. I feel partly responsible, especially since I brought you here; it's my fault. I'm so sorry, y/n, and I completely understand if you just want to leave, you can I won't force you to stay.”

You turn and move approach him. You had no idea what possessed you to do such a thing, but before you realised it, you had placed a palm on his cheek, cupping it. “Honestly, everything is fine. I get where you're coming from. I don't know about your relationship with your mother, but if it's as difficult as you claim, I'll go with it. It's fine; I handled everything on my own rather well, didn't I?” You smile to yourself with pride. “I’m an independent woman after all”

Jay returned the same look, and if it hadn't been so dark, you would have noticed how bright his cheeks were at the contact of your cold hands “I like my women independent” he winked at you, causing you to quickly retreat your hand back using it to hit his chest “s..stop it” Jay smiles “would you believe me if I told you I stayed silent because I knew you were going to jump in so there was no need..haha” you flick him in the arm, making him yelp “don't make me change my mind park” jay quickly shook his head “just a jokey joke..” You smile as you move towards the door, “No worries then let's continue what we started”

The rest of the night went nicely; Jay's mother scowled at you the entire time, but never said anything, which you appreciated, and the meal was as good as you expected. “So this is what you affluent people do when you're bored?” he shrugs. “I suppose so.. I have these all the time” “How do you have time to prepare for midterms? Especially if it's 11 p.m. and no one appears ready to go home” you raise a brow awaiting his reaction “well... I make it work and quit interviewing me” you frown

“I am not interviewing you. I am only asking some inquiries. Can't a girl be curious?” he rolled his eyes, “you seem too curious for someone who doesn't like me”

“Well maybe I don't like you a little less than before” Jay raises an eyebrow, querying how you worded your sentence “Clearly, you visit the library, but not enough. Your sentence is grammatically incorrect nevertheless, I know how to decode the drivel you spew, therefore I understand you.” As usual, Jay had to find a way to irritate you. “If you understand me, you could have just said thank you and called it a night.” Jay laughs, looking at his watch.

“Like you said it's getting late we have class tommrow come on let's go I'll drive you home” you nod “loving the jays girlfriend experience it's a shame you have such as attitude for that I'll rate it a 7/10” Jay stands up with his hand against your back, guiding you through the crowd. “A 7/10? Come on, I treated you well tonight; I even gave you this lovely outfit and shoes, and I- “woah, woah, cool down, I was just kidding.. you've been so sweet to me today I’ve basically fallen in love with you at this point” you smile.

“Your in love with me?” You hum “I said basically doesn’t mean I actually am don’t get my words twisted I know how badly you want me and all..” you wait for his response yet all he does is stare at you with a look. A particular look you recognise, the look he gave you before he kissed you that day. Was he going to do it again? You secretly hoped he would.

“Y/n actually I- Jay! Is that you my favourite nephew I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Dispite the interruption Jay isn't sure what hit him, but he wanted to make you smile like that again and again, and he yearned for another time when he could be alone with you and do whatever he wanted.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

From that day onwards You and Jay were near each other more from the start. You studied together, spent your spare time together, and even greeted each other in the hallway. While you still had some arguments and words flung back and forth, they were less frequent and less sour and bitter.

“Jay Jay Jay jaayyyyyyy” he hummed as you poked his cheek. He felt the sharp agony of your acrylics scraping his cheque, but not wanting to upset you, he took the pain silently, allowing you to do whatever you pleased. “I've been thinking we should go out,” he shoots his head up. “G..go out really ?” You agree, “Yeah, there's this cool bowling place that opened about 15 minutes away from campus; we should go together.” Jays smile dropped as glad as he was to go with you, he was hoping it was to “go out with you,” if you catch the drift

But Jay was happy that you were happy and that’s what matters now. Your closeness to eacother was somthing Your friends soon all picked up on yet no one questioned it too much because they were relieved that everyone in the group was now on good terms.

But was that really the case?

What was supposed to be a relaxed atmosphere transformed into an uneasy, uncomfortable quiet. Jay Jake Sunghoon and Jungwon are present, but despite the normal cheerful environment, today no one speaks.

“So.. what's up guys..” Jake sought to break the silence but received no response. He sighs and sinks into the chair, succumbing to defeat. “Actually Jake..” Sunghoon answers “I wanna know what's up too” he speaks addressing Jake, but his eyes are straight on Jays, and Jay understands precisely what he is talking about.

“If you have somthing to say just be straight with me Sunghoon” he clicks his tongue againt his check growing agitated “what I can’t seem to understand.. is how you wanted me to stay away from her so bad because she’s a “bad person” yet all of a sudden your associating yourself with you even hanging out with her privately which you never did before..”

“Honestly I wish I could give you a straight answer for that.. but I can't really explain how I feel and I'm sorry for how I acted back then towards you about it I shoukd have just been true with my intentions” he said “then what are your intentions” Jay gulped, little nervous beneath his gaze, “I like her too, Sunghoon, and I think I always have..maybe ”

The room fell silent as Sunghoon's eyes ramined on Jay's eyes, twitching fingernails digging into his skin as his skin redness became sore. “I feel like such a fool.. my best friend has been lying to me all this time I knew it that day with the smell it was y/n's I smelled the same when I invited her to ice skate with me.. you've been lying under my nose this whole time kissing her doing god knows what with he for all I know! when I expressed my fucking interest in her!” Jay felt terribly awful for how it all played out. He wished things had been different, he wished he had never liked you or that sunghoon had never liked you in the first place, but it was too late.

“Sunghoon, I-“save it” he stood up, grabbing his bag departing. Jay gazed down with regret. Jake sighed and hurriedly stood up to follow, while Jungwon remained behind to check on Jay.

Straight after class you proceed to the lounge and in the corner you find Jay and Jungown. You approach them ready to say high until you catch on to the vibes. As you gaze at their looks bewildered, you pry

“Guys? Is everything alright?” They both glance at you silently. Jay says nothing at first but mutters a brief “I'll talk to you later” as he collects his things and leaves. Jungwon tags along, giving you an apologetic look as he departs, leaving you perplexed and alone to ponder your feelings.

Jay has distanced himself since that day. Perhaps you would have preferred not to see his face back then, but the you now dreaded it. He became part of your routine, something you looked forward to, and now it's as if it never happened. You waved at him in the canteen one day, he looked away, (ouch) the next you asked him a question, he got up and left, the other at the store he made eye contact with you and went into another section , you called, he declined, you texted, he was online but left you on delivered.

It's almost pathetic how badly you wanted to talk to him despite the fact that he ignored you every time, but you didn't want to give up; you had some hope that he'd ultimately talk to you, but he didn't.

Yujin was becoming concerned about your state; you stopped hanging out with the others at lunch, you didn't respond to the group chat despite being the most active, you stayed in your dorm most of the time and stopped going out with everyone, and when you did, you looked tired and drained this wasn't like you at all.

“What could I have done wrong yujin.. I don’t understand we were so fine like 2 weeks ago then boom ghosted” yujin sighed as she pattered your back in attempts to comfort you she truely didn’t understand either “I really don’t know.. it seems you guys were fine from what I saw maybe it’s a him issue”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹

Now it's the 15th, the day you dreaded. You had no idea how you would deal with Jay, or if he would even show up, because he now appears to despise you. You felt your stomach churn, which was a restless sensation. Taking the deepest breath your body could bear, you opened the door to see Jay sitting with some papers and reading them. You silently step in, locking the door behind you and sitting a few seats away while bringing out your paperwork.

Silence. As you expected

But impulsively it felt like the one chance you had to receive answers and closure because there were no excuses for him to run away and ignore you. “Jay” he hummed, not looking up, “why are you ignoring me? Have I done something wrong?” Jay doesn't say anything for a moment but eventually says “no”

“Why am I getting silent treatment then? And look at me when I'm talking to you.” Jay sighs softly, looking up to meet your gaze, and immediately lowers in sorrow as he sees your expression. “I've been wondering for weeks what I must have done to irritate you.. but I can't put my finger on it. We were getting there, Jay and we were getting along..then you just cut me off out of nowhere. What was the point if you were just going to do this? You might as well have just let me live my life, but no you made things complicated.”

“I..I'm sorry” you scoff in incredulity. He's not sorry; if he was, he wouldn't have done this to you in the first place if he cared enough. “ If you were sorry, you would not treat me this way, or... is this the goal to make me like you so you can then mess with my emotions!? and make me feel like shit since you despise me so much? If so well done actor of the fucking year.. you fooled me for sure.” You shake your head standing up, Jay replicates your movement, reaching out quickly seizing your wrist.

“Hey... no, no, it's not like that at all! Please hear me out. I didn't want to handle things this way” you sharply, remove your hands from his grip. The warmth he once gave you feeling disgusting It's as if a switch went off in your head, erasing any developing feelings and replaced them with what you once knew.

“What? Want to mislead me again with your lies and restart the cycle? Cut it out, Jay, you've won! Are you pleased with your achievements? Are you satisfied? And to think I thought we could someday... well, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? I don't want anything to do with you, Jay.” Jay was frustrated and scared, and he didn't know what to do. He attempted to convince you, but you refused to listen.

You turn to leave, ignoring his pleads. “Jay, if you know what's good for you, stay away from me right now. You've been doing so well lately, I'm sure it won't be a problem for you. Keep up the good work goodbye Jay,” you turn away, slamming the door behind you, leaving Jay to linger in remorse.

In frustration, he smashed his fists against the table, turning red. He was extremely angry. Angry at himself for being so dumb and small-minded; if he had just been honest with you, maybe things would have been different. Jay wasn't sure what to call it, but it felt like heartbreak more than anything. A wave of anguish overtook him, robbing him of appetite. He felt intense pain in his midsection, like if a shard had sliced through his gut. It felt like death, like despair, choking his body's breath and shutting down his brain effecting his ability to think.

With each passing day, you take another step away from him leaving him in the dark as he once did to you , roles now reversed he feels the same pain you did. despite his constant request and pleas that you show some signs. Your eyes show him distrust, and an averted stare.

“She's leaving today she didn't even say goodbye” Jake frowns and looks down as Jay strides into the room, reading a brow. “Who's leaving?” Jake and Yujin froze. “Uh.. no body jay it's nothing” he crosses his arms “tell me” Yujin keeps her mouth shut to keep her world safe, whereas Jake blabbers your secret under even the slightest pressure.

“Y/n! She is travelling for Canada today- her flight is at 8:45” Jake hurriedly covers his lips while Yunjin slaps him harshly on the shoulder “your so... useless,” she sighs in annoyance now looks at Jay "if your thinking of going don't bother there is no way you will make it in an hour she will be gone and wants nothing to do with..”

Yunjin halts in her sentence in shock as Jay speeds out his room you could practically feel the gust of wind from the speed at which Jay ran to his car. This was his last chance he had to at least try maybe now maybe now you would be willing to talk to him and sourt things out he needed and has been yurning to be in your Presence for so long

You sighed as you waited in queue to board your flight. Was this a hasty decision? Perhaps would it would improve your mental health 100%, especially since it was only for the rest of the academic year you needed this time for yourself. As you go through your playlist, you select a song and discreetly hum along to it, closing your eyes and immersing yourself in the music.

“Y/n!”

You were so engrossed in your music that you missed Jay desperately calling out your name as you made your way to the front, scanning your passport and pulling your bags closer to the jet. Jay worried and tried to get closer to you, but the airport was packed with people "y/n!" He called for you again.

But it was too late your figure was gone.

You wonder occasionally if you and Jay were actually incompatible , and how two wrongs may function together so strangely. Was your perfect harmony a lie?. Was it only temporary, or was it even there at all?-Or simply a thought you deluded yourself into thinking since you craving his attention so much.

You guess you will never know and neither will he.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ ౨ৎ

ᝰ.ᐟ - note : after being gone for moths I’ve finnaly had the motivation to writeeee. This has taken me days hopefully you enjoyed and thank you for reading ૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა

@SOOTREEPEAR